Unforgettable
by destiny's sweet melody
Summary: Catching Fire AU. When Snow decides the best way to punish the Victors - and her especially - is to choose the tributes from their family and friends, Katniss becomes determined that she will bring at least one of them back alive. Considering her fellow tribute, Madge knows the odds are not in her favor, but maybe, just maybe, she can do something to make herself unforgettable.
1. The Reaping

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _The Hunger Games_ or anything recognizable found herein.

 **A/N:** I've recently decided to reread the trilogy and it made my love for the series live again! _Catching Fire_ has always been my favorite (I know, I'm in the minority), but I'll admit that I was looking forward to the psychological horror of Katniss having to mentor some poor girl slated to die. And then how horrible it would be if she actually knew the person. And I've always felt that Madge was the greatest waste of a character in the series, especially when Katniss mentions Madge had been "dying" to get out of 12 and she taught her a few things, including _how to shoot!_

This premise probably makes little sense, but hey, it's fanfiction, and enjoyability matters more than logic!

 **Warnings:** Spoilers for the first two books, major AU, canon-typical violence, first person POV, contains Everlark and (one-sided... maybe) Gadge. I will add any chapter-specific warnings per chapter.

* * *

Summary: Catching Fire AU. Madge knows she has no chance in the arena. She's not a hunter, or an artist, or a Career; she doesn't even have a tragic back story to garner sponsor sympathy. Katniss knows this too, but when Snow decides the best way to punish the Victors - and her especially - is to choose the tributes from their family and friends, she becomes determined that she will bring at least one of them back alive. Considering her fellow tribute, Madge knows the odds are not in her favor, but maybe, just maybe, she can do something to make herself unforgettable.

* * *

 **Unforgettable**

 **Chapter One: The Reaping**

 _"This year, in order to remind the districts that not even the strongest of them can withstand the might of the Capitol, the tributes will be chosen from the surviving Victors' family and friends."_

* * *

I wonder for a moment what the point of this is. Well, it's _very_ clear that the point is to make the Victors, especially the newest ones, suffer, but it seems very shortsighted to me.

 _Won't this just make people angrier?_

I know, I'm not supposed to know about the revolts in other Districts, but of course I know. My father is the mayor, he has a skeleton crew of assistants, always running from one end of 12 to the other trying to keep everything together. Sometimes the alarms in his office blare for hours. My mother, blessedly unaware of most things, would sometimes send me to shut it off, and so I see most everything. I suppose I might be one of the most well-informed people in Panem that doesn't work for the Capitol.

This will only make things worse.

One of the only things keeping the country from open rebellion was that the Victors - _the strongest of us_ \- refuse to openly support it. I wonder if they don't want to lose their comfortable lives free from work and hunger... or if they were scared. Scared of being killed, or not being killed. Of being sent back to the arena or, perhaps, this exact thing happening. Their friends and family being specifically targeted just because they dared to survive. Some of them had children, some of them were old enough to have grandchildren.

Here in 12, the square is cordoned off for hundreds like it always is, which makes the laughably small tribute pool even more jarring. Katniss can count the people she loves on the fingers of her hands. Gale, Mrs. Hawthorne, and Mrs. Everdeen are all over eighteen, making them ineligible; Vick and Posy Hawthorne are both under twelve. I'm glad the age limit still stands even for the Quell. I wonder if even the Capitol could be cruel enough to send a ten or five year old into the Arena; an elderly woman like Greasy Sae, or an expectant father like Bristel. My stomach twists in revulsion as all my thoughts converge on the word _yes._

That leaves me and Prim for the girls, and Rory Hawthorne for the boys.

Peeta, though always popular and able to charm anyone on sight, was strangely solitary. All his family members were too old for the reaping and his only real friends were fellow Victors. Delly Cartwright, who had grown up with him, stands in girls' side, while a few boys from school were standing near Rory. It was obvious that they were added to amp up the tension; they hung out with Peeta, sure, but they weren't close. Maybe they had bragged about knowing him, spoken on his behalf on TV when he made the final eight last year, or maybe they were just unlucky.

I hold Prim's left hand in my right, and she, ever so sweet, grabs Delly's visibly shaking hand in her other one, despite not even knowing her. I realize in an instant why Katniss volunteered. Prim is so kind, so _good_ , that the idea of her being reaped is unbearable to me, and I've only gotten to know her well in the last year.

I wonder, if her name is called again, if Katniss would try to volunteer again, if she would be allowed to, in this mess they call the Quarter Quell. This was obviously targeted at Katniss, the torture too precise for it to be coincidence. If they want her out of the way, why wouldn't they just let her go back into the arena to die?

 _Because then she'd be a martyr._

Okay, so maybe they _do_ have some sort of foresight. I wonder if one of us will be expected to volunteer for her. If _I_ will be expected to volunteer for her. I _am_ supposed to be Katniss' best friend, after all.

I can't bear the thought of Prim being reaped, but I don't want to go either. As Effie steps up to the microphone and says "Ladies first!" I think, for one sickening instant, that I hope it will be Delly. Then I am immediately filled with revulsion at myself and try to make my mind blank. I close my eyes tightly and focus on one thought and one thought only.

That it's not Prim, it's not Prim, it's not Prim.

When the name is called, my head snaps up, even as my mind goes completely blank. I'm not even sure I'm breathing. Because the name that was called is not Primrose Everdeen.

It's Madge Undersee.

I feel Prim's hand spasm in mine, and I realize I'm squeezing too tight, my nails digging into the back of her hand, but she doesn't let go. She isn't pulling away. If anything, she's gripping me back just as tightly. Tears prick my eyes, and it is this kindness, this act of love that I never thought I would receive from anybody, that allows me the strength to pull my hand away and walk towards the stage.

Vaguely, I am aware that Prim has covered her mouth with her hands, though the tears flowing down her cheeks are still visible. Delly fell to her knees at some point, probably in relief, and I can't say I blame her. On the stage, Effie is the only person that looks halfway happy to see me, but even she is not her usual chipper self. I imagine it is because how much her favorite tributes are suffering now, and not for me, someone she has seen maybe once at the Harvest Festival because I was friends with Katniss.

Katniss does her best to stare steely into the distance, not even looking at me, and that I also understand. If she looks at me, the proof that she can't protect her loved ones, she might cry and she can't do that, not in front of the cameras. Peeta _does_ look at me though, and his eyes are so sad and earnest that _I'm_ the one that needs to look away. Haymitch stares and stares and stares. I'm not sure what to make of it. And my father... oh my poor father!

I can't stand this! How will I last even an instant in the arena?

I don't have time to even think of a strategy, of what demeanor I should present to have even a halfway decent chance to win when I realize I have no chance. I will not be making it back to District 12, because Effie has already moved on to the boys and the name she calls out seals my fate.

It is "Rory Hawthorne!"

* * *

I don't know why I feel beholden to Gale Hawthorne, he hasn't done anything for me. If anything he has been callous and even cruel to me! I remember his scathing words to me at the reaping last year. Can't he take a joke? Then I remember Katniss, who is similarly defensive and distrustful, and realize that he can't. He's from the Seam, he's been the head of a family of five since he was fourteen, he's been forced to work in the mines, he's been publicly whipped. He has suffered in a way I can't even imagine and yet he continues on with the same steadfast spirit he's always had.

And I realize that's it, I admire him. Sometimes, I think I could even...

Well, that doesn't matter now. It never really did. But it means that I will have to die, because...

The door slams open and my father, red in the face and short of breath walks in, all but carrying my mother who is more aware than I have ever seen her. She looks at me, _really_ looks at me, and yet when she grasps my face in her hands, she sobs, "Maysilee," before pulling me into her arms for a crushing hug.

She runs her fingers through my hair, upsetting the ribbon holding it in a half-ponytail, murmuring in my ear, "Not you, Maysilee. Not again."

Over and over. It's just nonsense to me. I vaguely remember my mother having a sister named Maysilee, but she died so long ago, before my parents were even married, and no one talks about her. I was always unconcerned about her, but now I feel like I should have asked.

My father doesn't hug me. We have never been an overly affectionate family. Ever since I was nine and grew too big for his lap, our contact has been limited to kisses on the forehead before school and a quick hug on a special days. He looks at me over my mother's shoulder, and smiles sadly.

He doesn't offer advice or empty encouragement, we both know it would be pointless. I offer him one of my hands and he grips it tight like he never wants to let go. For a moment I think this is what a family is really like. _Why couldn't we be like this all the time? Why did you have to wait for me to die to show me that you loved me?_ I don't voice my thoughts. This is not the time to hurl resentments. It's time to be a family.

The Peacekeepers come in to herd my family away. Not even being the mayor can gain my father special privileges like more time with his only child.

"I love you so much!" I practically sob, and my father tells me they both love me too as my mom cries for her dead sister before the door slams on their faces.

Prim and her mother come in next. They both hug me fiercely, and any pretenses I had of being strong for the cameras evaporate as I burst into tears. The Everdeens have become almost like family in the last year. While my mother withered away in bed and my father did his best to keep Thread at minimum cruelty, I was left alone to my own devices. Most of my free time I spent with Katniss. Then, when the Quarter Quell was announced and it was apparent who would be in the tribute pool, Peeta forced us all to begin training for "anything," as he said. Mrs. Everdeen designed a special diet for us to eat, Katniss and Peeta made sure each of us was able to keep the diet, and Prim healed our hurts. Even Haymitch had shouted directions at us while we trained!

Gale had mockingly referred to the little unofficial training center in the Victor's Village as the Career Camp, but he had joined regardless as his brother was in danger as well. He taught us about snares and assisted Katniss when she taught us to shoot arrows and throw knives.

"Katniss will help you," Prim whimpers against my chest, but I know her heart's not in it. They have known the Hawthornes for years, Rory is in her class, between the two of us, it's obvious who she'd rather have come back. But, maybe, she hopes that if he doesn't then I will. That's about all I can ask for.

"We'll be cheering for you, both of you," Mrs. Everdeen tells me fiercely, and I respect that she is at least honest. "Do your best."

"I will," I promise, because even if I have no plans to come back, I can't go down without a fight either.

They leave without a fuss, probably unwilling to be manhandled by the Peacekeepers like we were last year. I sit on the plush velvet seat, expecting to be alone until Rory is done with his visits and we are taken to the train. I have no other friends or family. Only Katniss and Peeta who will be acting as mentors and I will see on the train.

I don't expect any other visitors, so I jump out of the seat when the door opens again. I am shocked beyond words when I see my visitor.

She doesn't waste words, or grip me tight, or cry. She marches over to the seat and pulls me down next to her. We are both quiet for a moment, but I realize our time is limited, so I quietly inquire, "Mrs. Hawthorne?"

"Please, call me Hazelle."

I nod, and wait for her to continue. I know Hazelle from the Career Camp, she would be there before anyone else, having tended to Haymitch's house, and stayed to cheer on Rory and tell Gale to take it easier on us. Vick and Posy would sit with her, watching us all, shouting encouragements, cheering wildly when we barely completed a challenge. They were, all in all, the loveliest family I knew. Hazelle herself might be the most graceful and motherly woman I know, I doubt she has come to wish me ill, so I wait for her to find the right words.

"I can't honestly say I hope to see you again," she begins and a manic smile graces her face as a half-sob, half-crazed laugh escapes her. Her forehead wrinkles with tension and tears spring to her quicksilver eyes. "But I can honestly say I will miss you."

I can't take it. I have received more love and kindness in the last few moments than I have in my entire life. I reach forward and hug her, tears once again escaping my eyes, and she doesn't hesitate to return the hug.

"Could you... maybe... if it's not too much trouble, visit my parents once in a while? They don't have much friends. With Mrs. Everdeen. I forgot to ask her."

"I can imagine that was an emotional visit," her voice is steady and her fingers slowly rake through my hair in a soothing manner, not in the same desperate way my mother's had. "I knew your mother, only a little, when we went to school together. I should have gone to see her sooner."

There is something in her voice that hints to some secret that I should know, but I don't have time to question her before her time is up. Maybe it's just that I don't have the same emotional bond with her, or that her embrace relaxed me, but it is only with Hazelle that I can remember to say the one thing that I've wanted to say since my name was called.

"Please don't forget me!"

"Never!" Hazelle manages to promise before the door closes and separates us forever.

* * *

The train ride is unbearably somber. Nobody speaks but Effie, who only talks about schedules. Upon seeing that Rory and I will follow her every word, she chirps happily about _finally_ being able to get things done and leaves to do whatever it is escorts do.

Peeta tries to sound cheerful as he tells us to eat up, and Rory digs in unquestioningly.

I can't take a single bite, only sit silently waiting for night to come and to fall sleep.

"Eat, Madge." Katniss' voice startles me, it's the first time she's spoken to me since the day before. Since we left the Career Camp for the last time and she wished us all luck. "The best thing you can do between now and the Games is put on a few pounds."

I look at her and wonder what must be going through her head. Anger, certainly. Both tributes have been chosen from her side of the pool, no matter who wins, she will lose at least one friend. Most likely, she will lose two. I wonder if the reaping was rigged somehow. Sadness, probably. And maybe she's already deciding who she will save. Age and muscle mass lends me favor. I was also her best student at the Career Camp since she had previously taken me out to the forest and taught me to shoot, although we never got to actual hunting. Maybe my looks, the merchant look, which is not all that different from the District 1 look, could gain me some sponsors.

But in terms of affection... I have no chance. I do not doubt that Katniss loves Rory, who is practically a younger sibling, more than me. And he's _Gale's_ little brother. Gale will never forgive her if she doesn't do everything to bring his little brother back, and Katniss could never be without Gale, her _actual_ best friend.

But I can tell by the look in her eyes, the lines forming around them, that she's conflicted. So I swallow my thoughts and force myself to eat.

* * *

After the meal, we are herded into a car with a large TV to watch the reapings from across the country. Heartbreakingly, the announcers also include _why_ they were each in the tribute pool and I was right, many Victors have children and even grandchildren.

Right off the bat, one of the announcers almost bursts into tears as Splendid and Calisto, both children of the woman that won the 40th Hunger Games and her many Capitol lovers, are reaped. And then she wipes her tears, smiles, and insists they all expect big things from the children of the woman who killed half the tributes in her year! Katniss looks like she wants to shoot an arrow at the screen.

No one is particularly exceptional; for the first time in my life, there are no Careers, no volunteers from 1, 2, or 4. The tribute pools are so small even in those Districts, the company most Victors kept being too young, or too old, or even fellow Victors.

In 8, one of the female Victors begins screaming her head off as the boy tribute takes the stage, and has to be held back by Peacekeepers. The announcers share a chuckle, and mention Haymitch's inglorious performance the year before and how "Cecilia may take his title as most memorable mentor." It's only after they make fun of her that they mention the twelve year old tribute is her son.

9, 10, and 11, pass in a blur, and _finally_ we get to 12. The announcers say what I had been thinking at the time: that they are grateful that Prim was not reaped. I am mostly unimpressive, the only thing in my favor being my blank face. I seem "intense" and "focused," but _of course_ I am, being best friends with the girl on fire. I barely resist rolling my eyes. Katniss might be my best friend - my only friend, really - but I know I am not hers. I was only her safe haven when the romantic entanglements in her life became too much.

On the screen, Rory practically vibrates with anxiety and the announcers coo over how adorable he looks and then mourn the girl on fire's luck. She found true love only to lose two close friends. Will the odds _never_ be in her favor!? Katniss doesn't bother stopping herself from rolling her eyes. She also makes a gagging sound.

When the TV shuts off, Rory is the first to speak, "I was horrible!"

"Oh no, no!" Peeta insists, "They think you're adorable, so they already like you!"

"Adorable won't keep him alive." Katniss snaps.

Peeta doesn't bother to hide his glare and I'm surprised. I knew, of course, that they weren't the madly in love couple they show for the Capitol, but I thought they got along overall. "Sponsors that like him will keep him alive."

They argue for a moment, back and forth, as Haymitch quietly chugs a bottle. Eventually, the conversation turns to me and whether my stony silence would win me favor. Peeta mentions that I looked a little scary. "You always looked like that. That's why no one but Katniss would sit with you at lunch. No one was brave enough."

That pulls me up short. I had no idea people were _scared_ of me. I always thought they hated me because of my supposed privilege as the mayor's daughter. I have never, not even once in my life, thought of myself as scary.

"I'm not scary," I tell them.

"It doesn't matter," Peeta insists. "In the Capitol, image is everything. We can work with intimidating." And then, so that Rory doesn't have to worry about favoritism, "And we can work with adorable."

Rory smiles almost adoringly at Peeta. I can already see the big brother worship taking root in his mind. Good. Hopefully, Peeta can see it too and feels obligated to bring him home, just like Katniss already does.

Just like I already do. I have no plans on making it back home, but I can't go down without a fight, either. Because I am going to make sure that Rory Hawthorne is crowned the Victor of the 75th Hunger Games.

* * *

 **A/N:** Sorry if this chapter seems a bit derivative of the original work, it just ended up like that. The Mrs. Hawthorne/Mr. Mellark parallel was intentional, but IDK, I feel kind of weird about it.

I know that in the movies it is shown, and implied in the books, that Heavensbee was manipulating Snow into forcing the Victors into the arena to make their Mockingjay, but I _still_ think that was super reckless, especially since not all the Victors were in on the plan. Katniss could have died, and then where would they be!

I hope I can give Madge her own unique voice throughout this fic. She sounds kind of Katniss-y to me right now, but this is basically only the (really long) prologue. I'm not entirely sure if **the 40th Hunger Games** were mentioned, but in this AU a District 1 girl won. **Cecilia's children's ages and her exact age** are also a mystery to me. She supposed to be in her 30's so, if she's 35 or thereabouts, having a twelve year old isn't really that weird, especially in this world where everybody dies young and a pregnant seventeen year old isn't all that shocking. **I'm also super confused about Bristel's sex!** In fanfic, they're usually a girl, in the HG Wiki, he is a boy, IDK if Collins ever confirmed that, but whatever, in this fic he's a man!

As always, tell me what you liked, didn't like, and thought could use improvement!

~ Destiny's Sweet Melody


	2. Radiant

**A/N:** I honestly hate First Person POV _and_ present tense, but it's the Hunger Games, you know?

 **Warnings:** mentions of a panic attack, and mild mentioned GaleNiss, because canon.

Thank you to everybody that showed interest in this story!

* * *

 **Unforgettable**

 **Chapter Two: Radiant**

Cinna is every bit as impressive in person as he is on TV, and twice as handsome. I try not to blush as he takes in my naked body. The look he gives me is intense but not lascivious, and it is only my own thoughts that cause me embarrassment.

"There's no need to be shy," he tells me in his deep, cool voice. "I hope we can be friends."

 _Like with Katniss?_ She has nothing but good things to say about Cinna, and that's how I know he's trustworthy. Katniss' favor is high praise indeed. I smile awkwardly, "I hope so too."

As he begins to speak about fashion, I wonder how Rory is doing. Portia, I believe, is his stylist's name. She was just as good as Cinna in making Peeta look good, or perhaps the right thing to say is that they work well together. They are a team, which was rather fortunate for the star-crossed lovers, as the audience associated them with each other even before Peeta confessed his undying love.

Would they continue that trend this year? To what end? A thirteen year old boy and a seventeen year old girl couldn't pull off the star-crossed lovers thing. And not even the Capitol citizens could be dumb enough to fall for the same thing twice in a row. Probably. We couldn't even pull off a big sister-little brother kind of deal, we're polar opposites! He has black hair, gray eyes, and olive skin, to my blonde, blue eyed, borderline pale body. I _do_ spend a lot of time indoors.

Cinna leads me to another room and offers me food, and even though I have never gone hungry, I have never tried food this good. Even the food provided by the Capitol at the Harvest Festival was nothing compared to the fare they got to enjoy every day. I almost ignore Cinna in favor of eating, until he starts mentioning themes.

"Will you be setting me on fire as well?"

Cinna smirks, "Something like that."

* * *

Rory and I do indeed match. We wear matching coal black jumpsuits, little beads, black as pitch, twisted in our hair. There is a little button on the inside of the right wrist that will give the audience a surprise. Cinna and Portia make last minute adjustments and coach us on how we should act. Apparently, I should continue the aloof, stoic act.

"Lucky you," Katniss mutters conspiratorially as she needlessly adjusts my collar. I know she's just worried and needs something to do, so I allow her fussing.

Peeta is telling Rory, "Be nice, but not too nice. Look around, smile, but don't wave or blow kisses."

Coy, I think, is the word he's looking for.

Haymitch is drunk, and Katniss spends an equal amount of time glaring at him, saying rude words at him, and fussing over Rory and me. Finally, it is time for us to take our places in the carriage. I have never seen a horse before, and I can't help but admire their beauty. Everything in the Capitol is beautiful and tragic and ephemeral. For a moment I can't help but wonder what it would be like to live here, in this place of ever changing beauty, and I almost think I can understand why they are the way they are.

"Hi," Rory smiles at me.

I smile shyly, "Hi."

"Should we hold hands like Katniss and Peeta?"

Something warm sparks to life inside me and I have to stop myself from cooing. I briefly think that hand-holding would ruin my aloof persona, but as we exit the Remake Center I don't much care. I offer him my left hand, "Ready?"

"Ready," he nods.

We are barely past the doors when we mutually agree to press the buttons on our outfits. Better to wow the audience early. The effect is instantaneous. We are not on fire, not quite. We are burning embers, struggling to catch fire but still surviving. _A spark,_ I think. Whatever we are meant to be, we glow! Shifting lights of yellows and oranges and even blues spread through our suits and the pitch beads have turned an angry red, burning and flickering in our hair. For the first time in my life, as I see myself on the screens, I think I am beautiful.

And I am aloof. My nervousness has turned my face into an implacable porcelain mask. Even holding hands with a sweetly smiling Rory lends me favor. I look almost as if I am keeping him in place, leading him, _commanding_ him. I seem formidable. The girl on the screen is not Madge Undersee, the mayor's unlikable daughter, she is a vengeful spirit, a warrior made of fire.

And she is here to take what she will.

* * *

Our training begins without pomp and circumstance. I'm not sure what I expected, but a bunch of scared kids was not it. I am one of the eldest at seventeen. Only Calisto from 1 is eighteen. The two from 4, and two from 7 are sixteen, but the rest are fifteen and younger. I feel it is some sort of mercy that only the boy from 8, Stitcher I learn, is twelve. Not all of them are children or grandchildren of Victors, many were just friends from school or the only people willing to talk to a Victor when they came home broken and hollow.

The girl from 4 with a complicated name pitches a fit when she cuts her hand in the knife throwing station and cries that she hates her mentor for making her come here and how she should have known nothing good could come from "a mad girl."

Katniss and Peeta instructed us before leaving to spread around the Training Center. Hit all the stations we could, learn something new, perfect a skill. "You should spend at least half your time at the archery station. They'll be expecting an archer out of one of you, and you're pretty good," she tells me alone.

Pretty good as in better than Rory. I'm sure in no time at all he would surpass me in skill, it was just those few blessed months before the Victory Tour and Thread and the electrified fence that gave me any sort of advantage. Still, the association with Katniss may win me some sponsors early in the Games, before they realize I'm not even half as good.

After lunch, which I share with Rory, he heads to the wrestling station and I head to archery.

I can feel my face burning and my heart pounds in my ears as the instructor happily hands me a bow. The station has been empty all day, so maybe he's happy to finally have a student. Or maybe he's one of the people that thinks I'll be as good as Katniss. I can already feel myself disappointing him, but I keep my face neutral as I take my place across from the targets.

I do reasonably well against the stationary targets, even managing to hit the bulls-eye once! It's nothing to write home about, but the trainer is impressed enough that he decides to upgrade me to moving targets. I gulp but agree. This is the part that I never got to. Katniss was supposed to take me hunting after the Victory Tour but then the engagement and Gale's whipping happened and that plan died a quick death. Even in the Career Camp, we never tried to hit moving targets. There was never any reason to, nobody was good enough.

I miss the first two and the trainer grimaces but actually begins to give me hints. Don't bunch up your shoulders, place your legs more far apart, loosen your knees. On and on, a new hint every time I miss. Until, somehow, on the eighth try, I hit the target right in the center. My mouth literally falls open and the trainer actually gives a whoop, effectively bringing all attention to me.

I don't know how much they saw, but the perfectly pierced target and the trainer's reaction make me seem much better than I actually am. I see envy and hate directed at me. _Good_ , I think, _focus all your hate on me._ The best thing that can happen is that they all think I'm the deadliest tribute in the Games. Rather than ruining my new image, I coolly walk over to the trainer and hand him the bow, thanking him for his time before making my way to the edible plants station. Never looking at anyone else. Aloof, cold, uninterested in any other being.

Arrogant. _Look at me. I'm the one to beat. Look at me. Don't look at Rory._

* * *

I do my best to sneak my archery training in a way that doesn't gain everybody's attention. It works as much as it can. I am certain, at least, that Stitcher, Calisto, and Splendid know that I am no Katniss Everdeen. Calisto _looks_ at me too often, probably thinking like a Career and scoping out his competition, and where Calisto is, Splendid is. I try to ignore the twisting in my gut as I think how cruel it is to put siblings in the Games. Stitcher started hanging out with Rory at some point in the second day, and therefore hung out with me for half the day.

All too soon our time training is over and we are being called to perform before the Gamemakers. I twist my hands together, not even bothering to hide my nervousness, as we each wait for our turn. As the female tribute, I go after Rory. He tells me, trusting to the last, that he will replicate Gale's twitch-up snare with one of the dummies, and maybe hit it a few times with a knife to prove how deadly such a trap can be. I think that should get him at least an 8, but who knows what the Gamemakers would think of such a simple plan. Traps rarely went the way you want them to in the arena.

I realize that I'm going to have to blow them away. If Rory can't get a respectable score on his own, then I will have to get one good enough to share. An 11, the impossible. Katniss told me what she did to get her score and I know that I can't ever hope to replicate it. Not only would they not look kindly on someone shooting at them when the last person they rewarded made them look like fools, but I would probably hit one of them trying to hit an apple.

My archery has improved remarkably - I can hit at least half of the moving targets by now - but I know that is not enough. I know a bit about snares, but nothing spectacular and I can't follow Rory's trap with another. That's a quick way to get a 1. All too soon, they call Rory in, and before I even get a chance to breathe, a mechanical voice is calling, "District 12, Madge Undersee."

The Gamemakers aren't blatantly ignoring me like Katniss told me they did her, but neither are they enraptured by my presence. I see a heavy-set man with a fur trimmed purple coat and realize this is the Head Gamemaker, Plutarch Heavensbee, the man that replaced Seneca Crane after his unfortunate end.

Suddenly, I know what I have to do. My heart is beating so loudly I can't even hear myself announce my name for them. Oh well, they already know what it is! My hands shake as I grab a rope and a dummy. It takes me a while to make a decent knot but eventually I manage to passably hang the dummy. I scurry unattractively to the camouflage station and grab the darkest berry juice I can find so that I can write a name on the chest, making sure that it is turned towards me so they can't see it yet. Finally, I grab a bow and a single arrow, I won't need any more. I could hit its heart or its head or even its neck, but I don't aim at any of those places. I catch it in the arm so that it spins again and again, hoping that when it stops the right side will be facing the Gamemakers.

Before it even stops spinning, I throw the bow to the ground and march towards the door, not even bothering to give them a word. Arrogant, even to the Capitol. _Especially_ to the Capitol.

I am almost at the door when I hear a sharp gasp and I know my plan has worked. The name on the dummy faces the Gamemakers, faces Heavensbee. They can all perfectly read the name Seneca Crane.

* * *

The scores are different than usual. Calisto and the District 4 girl manage the traditionally high scores from their Districts, but none of the others do. Splendid gets a shocking 4. The District 3 boy, surprisingly, gets a 9. Stitcher, tragically, only manages a 5. Rory manages to scrape up a 7.

"That's not bad," Peeta tells him with a squeeze of his shoulders.

Katniss offers me no such comfort and I am in no mood for it anyway.

I wait, my stomach twisting in knots as my picture fills the screen. It only gets worse when the announcer calls someone on their headset to confirm there's no error. I have enough time to wonder if it's possible to get a 0 when the number 12 is flashing on the screen. 12! I have blown even Katniss out of the water.

"Will District 12 never cease to amaze?" comes from the screen, but in the room there is only silence. A 12 is sure to amaze sponsors, but I understand what else it means. Haymitch reacts first. He basically launches from the couch with a snarl, throwing anything and everything in his path as he makes his way to his room.

"They'll be after you now." Katniss says into the silence, her voice brittle. She doesn't have to clarify who she means. _Everyone_ will.

"Madge, what did you do?" Peeta asks, and the tired quality of his voice almost hurts _me._

I bite my lower lip before admitting, "I murdered Seneca Crane in effigy."

The effect is instantaneous. Everyone explodes! Effie hurls insults, Cinna tries to calm her down while managing to look disappointed, Portia begins listing all the people she knows that would consider such an act blasphemy, Katniss adds that she's proud and Peeta chides her, starting a whole new argument between the two of them. Rory quietly inquires who Seneca Crane is.

I don't even bother explaining my actions, I know none of them will be pleased with my plan. I slip away to my room while they're all still arguing. I change into a set of blue silk pajamas and will myself to sleep.

* * *

The screaming wakes me up. For a second I think I'm already in the arena, but then I realize I'm still in my room in the Training Center.

I slink out through the door and walk towards the noise. The screams have stopped but I can hear voices, and what sounds like whimpering. The only weird thing is that it was definitely a female screaming, but the only female other than myself that spends the night on the floor is Katniss. And the female redheaded Avox, but I've been informed they can't make a sound.

 _Katniss doesn't scream. And she definitely doesn't whimper._ But when I finally reach the room, the door slightly open, I see that I'm mistaken. Katniss is practically curled up, leaning against Peeta's chest. Suddenly, all the animosity between them that has existed since the reaping is gone. I realize that most of that animosity must have been stress and grief, and a hopelessness as the Capitol specifically targeted their loved ones. They may not be _lovers_ but there was definitely love between them.

"I can't protect them, Peeta, I can't protect them." She breathes in great heaving sobs, and I wonder if she suffers from panic attacks. "I can't do this! Not for them. Not for our children."

 _Children?_ I am shocked by her thought process, knowing that she never wanted children, never even wanted to get married. But, of course, the Capitol will expect children from their favorite couple. Children that they can love and adore, and then when they're old enough, watch kill or be killed.

"That's a long way off Katniss. Anything can happen."

He strokes her hair and kisses her forehead, and Katniss amazingly allows this. It feels horribly invasive to watch this so I slink away, but I'm too wound up to go back to bed, so I head to the kitchen, hoping to find something to drink.

Instead I find Haymitch, all but strewn on the floor, half a dozen bottles of spirits around him. I prepare to turn back when he moans a name.

"Maysilee."

I'm starting to understand what happened to my aunt, but I want it confirmed so I pick up and throw away the bottles, prying a seventh from his hands, and pull Haymitch to the living room sofa. I brush his hair out of his face and trap him between my hands. "Tell me about her. Please."

And so, with slurring words and long pauses, I am told about the second Quarter Quell. About the forty-eight tributes, about the poisonous wonderland, about Haymitch outwitting the Capitol and winning. And about Maysilee Donner; clever, beautiful, brave Maysilee who made it to the final five before being torn apart by birds.

"I should have protected her," Haymitch hiccups. He's not crying, but it's a near thing. "I should have protected you."

"You couldn't protect her, only one of you could come out alive." I comfort him. But I realize that he might be the only one that could understand me. And this might be the only situation I will be able to weasel a promise out of him. So I tell him a story as well. One of strawberries, and whippings, and admiration.

* * *

Cinna frowns at me as he gets me ready for the interviews.

"I'm sorry if I've disappointed you."

He sighs tiredly, and for a moment he sounds so fatherly. Like I'm his child who disappointed him by getting a bad grade on a test, and I can't help but smile.

"You didn't disappoint me. You worry me. And here I thought I would only have to worry about Katniss."

I laugh, not able to help it. Cinna is charming with his honest manner. I can see why Katniss likes him so much. Even the prep team is lovely, if a bit empty headed. It's hard to correlate these people with the ones that are throwing me into the arena to fight to the death.

"You've definitely caused yourself some trouble, but maybe you're just the spark we need."

A spark again. I want to ask what he means by that. The spark they need for what? I'm _already_ the talk of the town if Effie is to be believed. I have everything going for me. High class friends, impressive stylist, incredible score, and the right attitude.

Instead, I ask, "Are you going to make me glow again?"

He smiles that heartbreakingly charming smile, "No, you're not going to glow, you're going to _shine!"_

The dress is simple in design, an off-shoulder neckline with sheer sleeves that reach my wrists. There is a golden pattern throughout that almost looks like flowers, and I'm about to question his choice until he presses something on my back and the pattern lights up, and moves in almost lazy golden streams. He spreads something glossy on my hair that catches the light and traps it in the strands, causing them to shimmer with each movement.

I am light, I am shining, I am radiant.

It doesn't take much acting to walk onto the stage as if I thought I was more beautiful than everybody else. Thanks to Cinna's magic, I am. Well, my dress and hair are, but the audience can't tear their eyes from me. Even as all the other tributes speak, many heads keep turning my way. The night lends itself to my dress. In the darkness, I am the sun.

When my name is called, I walk like I imagine the queens of old did. I allow myself to drape my body elegantly on the chair, and pretend to deign Caesar with a smile. I am sparing with my answers, keeping my responses short and my smile haughty. _A real uptown girl,_ snarls a voice in my head that sounds depressingly like Gale.

"Now, I know what we're all dying to ask," Caesar shares a smile with the crowd. "We all enjoyed the romance from 12 last year!" The crowd goes wild and the cameras turn to my mentors. They smile and wave and share a quick kiss, before Katniss bashfully hides her face in Peeta's collar. I've never seen her bashful before. She's an amazing actress.

"So, Madge, is there a special someone in your life?"

This is my chance! But, still, I act reluctant to speak, only shake my head but twist my mouth to prove there's something I'm dying to say. Caesar pounces on that opening and needles me to speak the truth. Even elbows me in the side. "Come on! Gorgeous girl like you! You walk down the street and boys must be just tripping over their feet."

Yeah, to run in the other direction. I think of Peeta's words, of how what I've thought of as my neutral face has been scaring children since I was six. I mean to sound nonchalant, uncaring, maybe imply that I'm just toying with him, but my voice comes out annoyingly honest.

"I'm not sure if it's love. It started really bad. We didn't really like each other, only spoke because of a mutual friend. Then. . . we lost our friend and we spoke a little more. And I. . . it was like I saw him, _really_ saw him for the first time. And I learned to admire him." A sigh runs through the crowd, but all I see are gleeful smiles. And I realize that the Capitol would have been happy to see star-crossed lovers every year for the rest of eternity. So, I decide to continue with my honesty. "But it would never work out, because. . ." Because he's in love with somebody else. But I can't say that! If I make it to the final eight and they interview people to ask who Gale loves, at least _one_ person would be dumb enough to admit it's Katniss and that would just cause problems. ". . . because he'll never see me as anything other than the mayor's daughter."

The crowd uniformly "aww's" at my confession, but Caesar only tells me to keep my chin up. "Win these Games! Then you won't just be the mayor's daughter, you'll be a Victor!"

 _Now's my chance,_ I think victoriously, _Just like Peeta._ It is only because I have practiced this line a thousand times before my mirror that I am able to say it for all of Panem to hear.

"I'll do one better, I'll send his brother back to him."

* * *

 **A/N:** You'll never know how much time I spent deciding whether I should have Madge be _Madge_ and not short for Margaret or Magdalene or anything like that. Eventually, I decided that if there can be weird names like Wiress and Woof, it wouldn't be crazy to assume somebody named their daughter Madge, and it's not just a nickname.

I sped through this week, because we all _know_ what goes on during that time and it would just be boring to read the same thing over and over. I want to get to the Games and the would-be rebellion and Madge being a bad ass.

Fun Fact: the original title for this fic was _Radiant_ , but then the main plot changed. And the **entirety of this fic** was inspired by me imagining Madge saying that final line.

As always, tell me what you liked, didn't like, and what you thought could use improvement.

~ Destiny's Sweet Melody


	3. Calm as Still Water

**A/N:** I had been trying to update each Saturday, and I've messed up by chapter three, ugh! I got stuck babysitting literally ALL WEEKEND while my sister and her husband went to a no-kids-allowed wedding in another city. Anybody that's ever taken care of a two year old knows not to bring out a laptop unless you want juice all over it - at best!

 **Thanks to SSJ** for reviewing!

 **Warnings:** Canon-typical violence begins now. Also blood (yes, it needs a separate warning).

* * *

 **Unforgettable**

 **Chapter Three: Calm As Still Water**

A shriek rips through the crowd just before the buzzer sounds and my time is up. As I make my way back to my seat with the other tributes I hear cheering, and crying, and shouts of "District 12!" and "Madge!" and "Love! Tragic love!" I'm glad I have to once again take on my stone-faced persona, because if not I would roll my eyes. Maybe even gag a bit.

Rory practically skips to his interview and all his questions are about his brother and me. He is only too happy to chirp about his big brother Gale, the best person _ever_ , and how he _always_ knew I liked him, and how he's sure we would have made a great couple and it's just too bad that we'll never have that chance. Rory, at least, has chosen to trust me completely. Not only that I will try to save him, but that I will succeed. I'm grateful. He's probably the only one that does.

When his buzzer sounds, the crowd cheers and coos and a few even cry for his victory and I know I've done it. My tragedy serves him well. If I can't be with Gale then at least his brother should be returned to him. The ultimate proof of love!

I don't have time to be annoyed before Rory reaches my side and Caesar begins bidding the audience farewell. Rory slips his hand through mine as easily as he did at the opening ceremony. Down the line, I can see the District 1 tributes, the siblings, are also gripping each other tight. I don't even think when I grab the District 11 boy's hand, and suddenly, as if they've all been waiting for somebody to do it first, we're all holding hands. An unbroken chain of solidarity. The first time since the Dark Days, probably, that all the Districts stand together as one.

There is a sudden surge just before all the lights go out and we're left to the stumble in the dark. But I know, because I've seen too many live streams in my home, that everybody has already seen. Look at us, that chain says, to the Districts not the Capitol. We're still fighting in the only way we can. We haven't given up yet, so you can't either.

* * *

Rory and I have only a few seconds of peace before the elevators open and all three of our mentors are there. Katniss is furious. She shoves at my shoulder, but not enough to hurt me. "You can't just use Rory like that! Just because it worked for Peeta. . ."

She trips over her own tongue, her rage clouding her ability to think. I take the opportunity to speak.

"I'm not lying!" I feel my face burn as all eyes turn to me. I realize what they must be thinking, so I clarify, "About getting him back home. I want to. I will. Even if I have to kill everybody with my bare hands and then jump off a cliff!"

There's a beat, and then, "Why?"

I see a coldness in Katniss' eyes and I realize its due to my confession. If I love Gale, what would I be to her? A rival? That's laughable! Would she be happy when I die if she thinks I had even the _smallest_ chance with him? For a moment, I think she is the most selfish person in the world. She already has Peeta, who practically worships her, and whom she loves, even if she hasn't worked out in what way she does. She also already has Gale. He loves her, and is perfectly willing to pine away for her, watching as she marries Peeta and bears his children, hoping perhaps for a stolen kiss once in a blue moon. And I hate that she's willing to let him. It's selfish and small minded, but then I remember that she didn't ask for any of it. Not for Peeta's devotion, or Gale's love, or a Capitol wedding. It was all forced on her, and I hate that I was jealous of it, even for an instant.

"Because he's thirteen!" I finally say, "Because he's Prim's best friend, he's Hazelle's son, he's Gale's brother and yours too even if you don't call him such! Because he has a family, a _real_ family."

Katniss instantly thaws and I know that this, at least, she understands. She knows all about living in the same house with a not-family. My parents and I practically live in separate worlds! My mother in her morphling, my father in his mayoral duties, and me with my piano. Of the three of us, I am the most useless; my mother, at least, serves in her role as the mayor's wife by being pliant and still beautiful. Katniss, on the other hand, has been a mother not just to Prim but to Mrs. Everdeen as well. Even now, after her Games, as she tries to remake her relationship with her mother, it's still not right. The tentative friendship forged between them is one of equals, not what a mother-daughter bond should be.

Neither of us has a real family. But the Hawthornes do. Even with the father missing, their bonds are still strong and loving.

"And you did great, sweetheart!" Haymitch announces, not quite sober, but far more clear-eyed than he's been since the reaping.

I can't help but smile at the endearment, even as Katniss snaps, "You helped her with that?"

"We. . . _brainstormed_ last night. Last minute thing, you understand."

"You should have included us, Haymitch." Peeta sighs as Katniss glowers.

"Well, it's too late now," I interrupt the argument brewing between the two ex-Seam residents. "And it worked. . . didn't it?"

"Like a charm! I'm sure Effie will be up all night lining up sponsors."

Oh, Effie! I realize I won't ever see her again and my heart constricts a little. She's empty-headed and a Capitol die hard, but I think she has her own hidden layers. Like when she teared up a little on the train, holding hands with Peeta and Katniss saying it was so terrible that the Quell was so unfortunate and "they can't do this to _us"_ and how she wanted to find us all golden tokens - like Katniss' pin and her hair - so that we could be a _team._ There's a part of her that wants so desperately to belong, to be a family, that I can't help but like her.

"Please tell her goodbye for me."

"For us!" Rory adds, "I liked her, her voice was funny."

Haymitch nods sharply, as if he's afraid to speak.

"So, any last words of advice?" I ask, knowing that we should get all the sleep we can.

"Find water." Katniss informs us tersely.

"Don't join in the bloodbath," Peeta adds and I remember how he did just that to get the Careers' attention.

"Stay alive," Haymitch finishes and they all share a tired smile.

It sounds like a joke, but we both nod dutifully. I wonder if anybody has ever had such obedient tributes. We share terse and hollow goodbyes, none of us willing to admit that it will be for the last time. Haymitch gives Rory a quick hug, more of a pat on the back really, but he embraces me tightly and murmurs quietly in my hair before leaving. I think what he said was, "I should have protected you."

Peeta gives us both strong hugs and words of friendship and love. I've never really considered Peeta a friend. He's always been a friend of a friend, the guy that everyone in school knows, and even a mentor. But when he stares me in the eyes and wishes me luck, I feel like maybe I was wrong. Maybe his quiet words and easy compliments _were_ friendship.

Katniss holds Rory for a good long while, but sends him to bed without any words of love. She turns to me, devoid of any warmth and I know that she's already trying to let me go. I'm as good as dead to her, especially if I actually go through with my plan. I know there must be a part of her that still thinks that it's just a gimmick, a way to make myself shine above the others at the cost of Rory. I'm sure Gale must feel certain that's all my confession was, and the thought makes me angry. I don't love Gale, not really, but I had thought maybe we could become friends. We spent enough time together during the 74th Hunger Games to let him know I was at least a decent person!

She places her hands on my shoulders and looks me in the eyes. I'm surprised by the vulnerability I can see in them. "Thank you Madge," she whispers, and it is better than any embrace. She has chosen to believe me, she has chosen to trust me. She believes I will bring Rory back to her. And she's probably grateful she will not have to choose, I have taken that burden from her.

If fighting for Rory is a declaration of love for Gale, then I hope it can be proof of friendship for Katniss too. I'm not sure what I am to her. I _think_ she considers me her close friend, but she is more than that to me. For a long time, she was the only person I could talk to. After the Games, I was happy we began bonding because I had a _real_ friend, not just somebody I talked to sometimes. But then I realized it was just because both Peeta and Gale were giving her the cold shoulder.

"I love you, Katniss," I force myself to confess. I am not the most emotive of people, but I make myself place my hands over hers. "You have been my best friend. Prim and your mother became like family. I hope... I hope you can remember me fondly."

Her eyes close off completely and I know it's because she cares. She can't cry here either. Even if it's a "private" floor, it's still Capitol property. I'm sure there are eyes and ears and able tongues everywhere. She nods tersely then turns away.

Before she gets too far I shout, "Please don't be too mad with Haymitch! Ask him about his Games and Maysilee, you'll understand."

She doesn't turn, but pauses to listen and then nods before going on her way.

I already know I will get no sleep tonight, but I force myself into bed and close my eyes. All too soon, the excited voices of my prep team wake me for my big day.

* * *

"I can hold your hand if you want," Cinna offers as I wring my own.

Is that what he did with Katniss? I shrug awkwardly, "I'm not much for physical interaction."

"That's unfortunate," he smiles wryly and I realize what a stupid statement that is when I am _literally_ going to be fighting to the death in a few minutes. To pass the time he orders me to stand and has me try to guess what the arena will be like based on my outfit. Thin, breathable, with two layers. Definitely somewhere hot. A thick purple belt that I can't quite figure out. I'm covered from neck to toes in the same material. All I can guess is that there will be lots of sun.

"One more thing," he announces, and pulls something golden from his pocket. "Effie wanted to find you a token, but Katniss took that one and demanded we give this to you. She asked me to tell you she understands now, and she knows about Maysilee." I can tell by his voice that he doesn't, but he's loyal enough to repeat what must be nonsense in his mind as he pins the token to my top. "And there should _always_ be a mockingjay in the arena."

It's Katniss' pin. The pin I gave her. The one I know the rebels are using as their call to arms. The one my aunt wore to her death, and my mother couldn't bear to look at. I took it without asking because I thought it looked too pretty to tarnish in a box away from all eyes. I remember my flippant words to Katniss, _"They're just songbirds."_ But they're not. They're _so_ much more.

I wrap my hand around the pin and smile appreciatively at him. "Thank you. Thank you all so much." I am almost grateful when a voice tells me to prepare. Any more emotion and I might start crying and what would that look like? All this hard work only to lose sponsors because I entered the arena crying like a baby!

No, I have to be strong, from now until the moment I die. Strong and brave. Brave like Katniss.

"Set the world aflame, little spark." Cinna says just before glass separates us and I have only seconds to wonder what he means before I am being lifted up and up and up and then... I'm blinded. My arm rises up to shield my eyes and my legs weaken for a second as I'm sure the ground is moving, but I force my knees to lock. I can't be the one to die because she moved too soon.

Slowly, I realize the ground isn't moving. There is no ground. Only water. Water! I have never seen so much in my life! A quick look around lets me see that most of the tributes are equally dazed, and that we're all standing on little disks that float equidistant to each other and the little island holding the Cornucopia and sand and nothing else. I don't understand. Do they mean to force us all to that little island for one large bloodbath. It'd be the perfect revenge on the Victors, but the Capitol would be disappointed. It can't be over too quickly. And it _has_ to be for the Capitol. They can't make it too obvious that it's for revenge.

No! There! In the distance and behind me, a beach. And spokes leading from the Cornucopia to land. But how do I get there? Surely, this was designed with a District 4 Victor in mind. Who else could swim well enough? At best, I could pull off a doggie paddle, and that's only in theory, I've never actually tried to swim. I never had the chance.

Claudius Templesmith begins counting down my doom.

10, 9, 8...

I can't see Rory.

7, 6, 5...

I can't swim. I can't even get off the platform. How am I supposed to protect him?

4, 3, 2...

I can't see Rory.

1!

The gong sounds.

"Rory!" I shriek but hear no response. He must be on the other side of the Cornucopia, too far to hear me. Four splashes announce that at least a few tributes know how to swim well enough to not even hesitate. If I could just make it to the nearest strip of land...

A fifth splash and I know I have to chance it. I jump and instantly the salty water burns my eyes and nose and I immediately regret my decision. I flap my arms uselessly, certain that I have jumped to my death when I feel myself being pulled up at the waist. At first I thrash, sure that a tribute has grabbed me, but then nothing happens. I raise my head and torso over the water and I realize I am floating. The ugly belt is the most useful thing I have ever seen: a floatation device.

Certain that I will not sink, I begin to paddle the way I saw in a book filled with diagrams. It's an old book, forbidden, but my father's study is filled with such treasures hidden in unobtrusive places. I don't think I'm doing it right, and I'm sure I must look an unattractive, floppy mess to the audience, but I manage it. When I pull myself onto solid ground, I see most of the tributes are still on their platforms.

I run to the Cornucopia and stumble as I decide to pick up some weapons. I won't be any use to Rory if I can't protect him. Two bows and sheaths of arrows, an assortment of knives, and a long, wickedly sharp machete. No food, no packs, no medicine, or water. Do they want us to starve? I know from experience what an exquisite torture watching someone you love waste away is, but again, not particularly entertaining. There has to be something! I look towards the beach and know the answer must lie there.

I run around the Cornucopia and see him, almost opposite the spot I started in. "Rory!" I wave at him. He waves back, but then his face breaks into shock.

"Madge, watch out!"

I duck without hesitation and reach back towards the weapons strewn about. I know everybody is expecting me to use the bow, but I can't yet. Not before I get enough sponsors. They can't know how bad I am with it too soon. My hand wraps around a mace by chance and for once I am grateful that I am the mayor's daughter, that I have never gone hungry, that I have more muscle mass than most men in 12, because I have no trouble picking it up and swinging it into the chest of the District 2 boy with a sickening crack.

My first thought is, _Oh no! He's only fourteen!_ but then I can only try to pry the mace from his chest. I don't have the chance before someone barrels into me from behind and I stumble into the sand. I dig my hands and feet in to stop from falling into the water and losing my arrows when I see it is Calisto. At once I see my death but he only hurries past me, obviously trying to do the same as me. Desperately trying to find his sister and keep her alive for as long as he can.

I jump to my feet and run to the edge. "Rory! Jump! You have to jump! Trust me!"

He does. He jumps without hesitation and only struggles for a few seconds before he realizes the trick and kicks furiously to the nearest spoke. I grab a small knife for him to use and run towards him, but stop when I see something shining and golden jump out behind him and I can't even warn him like he did me when Splendid wraps her arm around his neck and holds a thin throwing knife up.

Forget the plan! Forget the sponsors! I set up an arrow in one of the bows and aim at her head. I can hit stationary targets, but if she shifts, if she twitches, if she uses Rory as a human shield. . . I can't risk it. But I stand my ground. As long as she thinks she's in danger she won't kill him.

Her eyes flash, "Duck!"

I do. I'm not sure why, but I do as she says and her knife flies over my head and into the shoulder of my would-be murderer. District 7, I think. She is so close that I don't even have to worry about aiming; I couldn't miss her if I tried. I loose the arrow and it lodges itself in her chest and she falls dead.

This time, I think, _Why was that so easy to do?_ And then, horrifyingly, _If killing two tributes in the bloodbath doesn't get me sponsors, nothing will._

I pull the arrow loose from her body, not even bother to check its condition, before running towards Rory and Splendid. She still has her arm around his neck and squints at me, but I don't try to attack her and she doesn't pull out another knife. Is this a truce? An alliance?

"Let's go!" Calisto barrels past me and Splendid lets Rory go in order to follow. A quick look around shows that the other tributes have figured out the trick, probably helped by my shouts, and I know that we can't stay.

"Let's go," I agree and Rory follows them without complaint. His face turns so serious and determined for a second that I can't help but think he looks just like Gale.

* * *

We walk into the trees, the _jungle,_ I remember from my father's books, and do nothing but walk for a very long time. Calisto forces us into formation: himself in the lead, Splendid and Rory behind him, and I take the rear. I'm perfectly fine with that. This way, neither of them can stab me in the back.

I give the small knife to Rory and one of the bows and sheath of arrows. A quick look at the bloody arrow shows that it is fine. Good Capitol material that won't break because of breastbone. "You're better than me," he says in a small voice.

"But you're still good," I tell him. He's better than anybody else in the arena probably. Besides, in the end, mediocre back up is better than no back up at all.

The jungle doesn't lend itself to archery, anyway. Too many vines and overlapping trees to get a good shot. Katniss could probably do fine, but I can't help but think that they designed this arena, that they gave us each a bow and arrow when they would go years between appearances in the arena, in order to send a message. Look at what happens when you associate with the girl on fire, the mockingjay. I scratch at my token quietly and wonder if she knows what she has done by giving me this. The rebels must be eating it up! Another girl with the mockingjay pin, another girl that refuses to play by the Capitol's rules. But the Capitol. . . I can almost feel the cannons aimed straight at me.

Knowing about Haymitch's Quell and the design of the arenas in general, I have the presence of mind to keep a lookout on the horizon and shout a warning to Calisto when I see the tree line even out unnaturally. I place my hand gently on the force field, afraid of what might happen if any of us hit it too hard or accidentally struck it with a blade.

It's small, I think, much smaller than usual. It took Katniss two days to walk to one end of her arena, and now we have reached the end of ours in a matter of hours. We are debating which way to go now when the booming of the cannon interrupts us.

"The bloodbath must be over." Calisto mutters unnecessarily.

"Only six," I say before wincing. _Only_ six? What's wrong with me? Those are six humans, six _children_ who are dead, two by my own hands. Only Calisto, who stands before me, is older than me. Every single person that is dead has had less years to live than I have. They probably had families, and friends, and lovers, not fragile little bonds like I do. Every single of them deserved to live more than I do. But not more than Rory, I remind myself.

It doesn't matter how despicable I become, how deserving of death I am. In the end, I will die. But first, Rory will live.

* * *

We walk for a few more hours until there's no point in doing so. The bloodbath is over, and everyone is hurrying to find a home base just like we are. Splendid climbs up a tree as easily as Katniss did last year, and Rory is setting up snares a good distance from us, for food... or enemies.

"Your sister is good at climbing," I mention noncommittally. She climbs like Katniss and she has a braid like Katniss, like some of the Capitol girls I saw in the crowds. I wonder if her mother brought her to the Capitol enough that she followed the trends, or if her Capitol father did. I wonder if she thought she was Capitol enough to be free of the Games.

"Your boyfriend's brother is good with snares." His voice is as tense as his body. Is this what an alliance feels like? Like a rope that might snap at any moment? How can the Careers handle it?

"I don't have a boyfriend." I snap. I had hoped we could forget Gale, at least here. Outside, I'm sure the Capitol is filled with sighs for poor, tragic me, but here they should all believe that it was just part of a plan.

"Bullshit." His teeth clack on the sharp t and I startle. "Girl like you, of course you have a boyfriend."

"What's that supposed to -"

Splendid lands between us before I can finish my sentence. "There's nothing. No one on the beach, and the trees are too thick to see anything."

No water. Not yet anyway. But there has to be something somewhere. They had already done the death by dehydration thing, and it proved to be none too popular.

Rory arrived shortly after with some sort of fanged rat thing, obviously a muttation, but no sightings of water.

"Well, the animals at least have to drink something, right?" I say supportively, and he nods.

The trumpets blare and we see the faces light up the sky. The District 2 boy is first, and I try to look impassive as I remember the look on his face as he died. Both from 5, the girl from 7, and both from 9. I wonder if it's better for their families that they died so quick. Now they don't have to watch them running in terror, or struggling to find water and food. I've sweated so much that I feel dizzy, and I know we will have to find water _soon._ Splendid was already tripping over her own feet when we finally settled and Rory was soldiering on but pale. Calisto, I'm sure, feels as weak as I do but is trying hard to hide it.

The main event is over and so we feel confident enough to sleep in shifts with Rory's traps on one side and the force field on the other. I am awake when the gongs begin, Calisto and Rory startle awake but have no idea what to make of it.

Twelve gongs... what is it? Twelve Districts? Twelve boys and twelve girls? I'm too sleep deprived to puzzle out the meaning and then the lightning begins. Splendid wakes up with the fourth strike and she curls up to her brother and whimpers. _She's afraid of thunderstorms._ Somehow, that is incredible to me. I've always thought that Careers were fearless killing machines, but Splendid is only fourteen, and so pitifully small curled up next to her tall, athletic brother.

When it finally ends, we breathe a sigh of relief.

"That was too close for comfort," Calisto opines and I can only nod. If I speak my voice will shake and I will lose my reputation. My face is calm as still water, I know.

"Should we move?" Rory asks and Splendid practically shrieks, "Yes!"

We gather our few materials and begin heading towards the tree that seemed to be the only thing hit on my advice, "Lightning never comes back to strike twice, right?"

No one can answer and I realize it's another bit of ancient wisdom found in my father's books. Stories about people and places when Panem was still called North America. We have to make a circuitous route to gather Rory's snares, and are stumbling in the dark when the rain starts.

"Should we find a place to hide?" I ask Calisto. Somehow, despite my score, he has become our de facto leader.

He shakes his head. "There's no point, just keep moving. We need water anyway."

It gets stronger, suddenly, the light drizzle becomes a downpour and the fat, heavy drops hurt almost as much as hail. I can feel it sticking to me, and I realize that's not normal. Splendid tilts her head back and opens her mouth. I start to give a warning when she screams, or tries to. It comes out as a shrill gargle.

Her brother crowds her as she falls to her knees and spits out the dark, sticky substance. I'm covered in it all of a sudden. In an instant my hair is matted down and my suit is sticking to me. Rory is almost blending in to the darkness.

"It's blood!" Splendid manages to cough out. "Run! It's blood!"

We run.

* * *

 **A/N:** No, it's not a lack of imagination! I think that the arena was chosen very specifically by the rebels in order to shatter the Games as they did, so I decided that it was important to keep it. **And the Arena was chosen before the Quell was** , as Heavensbee hinted it to Katniss during her Victory Tour to gain her trust "as a mentor, not a tribute." But how will it work without Beetee? Well, you have to wait and see! But remember who the tributes are and you'll probably figure it out.

 _No_ , **Madge IS NOT going to become the Mockingjay,** don't worry. That's still Katniss' story, but it _is_ highly symbolic and a signal to the rebels for there to be a mockingjay in the arena.

I'm trying to make Madge's voice more _human_ , I guess, than Katniss'. She isn't a hunter, she's never wanted for anything, she isn't the hardened warrior girl Katniss was, so of course she's more immediately shocked by murdering somebody. But she's determined, so it's gonna be quite a ride.

The butchery of "lightning never strikes twice" was intentional. It's historically inaccurate to portray idioms as never evolving alongside languages, or even for them to never be completely misinterpreted/misused.

 **Girly friendships are important! So are platonic I love you's!**

As always, tell me what you liked, didn't like, and thought could use improvement.

~ Destiny's Sweet Melody


	4. Make Some Waves

**A/N:** I was struggling with how to do the big reveal since **we were never TOLD how Mags figured it out** , and I'm not totally happy about this, but my life has gotten ten times as hard recently, and will continue to be so for the foreseeable future. For the sake of not losing total inspiration and ending up in Hiatus Hell, I decided to post this!

 **Thanks to everyone** who reviewed, favorite, and/or added this story to their alerts!

To **Guest 1:** I actually wanted to add some new POVs, but for now it's just Madge to not interrupt the flow. We'll see how it all turns out.

To **Guest 2:** Thanks for reviewing, I'm glad you're enjoying my story!

To **Fangirl:** Thanks, I'm glad you like my Madge! I never forgive the deaths of characters for shock value, no matter how much I love a series, and I honestly can't think of any reason as to why Collins killed her as an afterthought. She was legit Katniss' only girl friend for _two whole books!_ At least kill her onscreen to give it some meaning!

 **Warnings:** Canon-typical violence, blood, drowning.

* * *

 **Unforgettable**

 **Chapter Four: Make Some Waves**

The ground is slick with blood. _We_ are slick with it. I dig my fingers into the sleeves of Rory's suit, because trying to hold onto his wrist is impossible. We try to run, but if we go too fast we'll fall and break something or maybe even drown in blood. I can hear Calisto's voice shouting at us to keep up. He is dragging his sister behind him but still manages a quicker pace than me. Career training or something else? I feel as if I could be better at it if I had spent more time in the forests around 12.

Splendid suddenly stumbles and lands in a heap and doesn't get up. Her brother swings wildly around but can't see her in the inky darkness, her blonde hair already tinged dark red. It's only because she lands right in front of us that I even know where she is, but I don't care. My only thought is to protect Rory. I have to get him out of this bloody deluge.

He has other plans, however, and he slips out of my grasp. No, he pulls himself from my grasp, and runs towards our fallen ally. I want to scream at him. _Just let her die! She has to die so you can live!_ At least this way we won't be traitors. But Calisto has blindly stumbled my way and if I voice my thoughts he will use that sword of his on us both without hesitation.

Both our charges are huddled on the ground, pushed down by the heavy blood and completely covered. In the darkness they look like an amorphous blob. We each grab and haul one up and I know by the feel of breasts on my back that I've grabbed the wrong one. But Calisto has thrown Rory over his shoulder like a sack of flour and continues towards the beach, so I follow.

The rain is unrelenting, my feet continuously slip as a good two inches of the liquid covers the ground. It's only dumb luck that when my feet finally give up their senseless dance and I fall face forward, I land on the beach. A loud splash tells me Calisto went straight to the water. Hopefully he took Rory with him. Splendid rolls off my back and lies beside me. I allow myself a moment to breathe, knowing that Calisto won't try anything with Rory when his sister is within stabbing distance from me.

Still, the second I get my breath back, I rise to my feet and stumble to the water. I try my best to scrub out the blood from my suit, when I realize it is pointless. I strip it off, more worried about cleanliness than shame, the fact that two males of hormonal age are mere feet from me. I've never had to worry about lustful gazes anyway, and I doubt it will change now that I am an enemy to these men. My undershirt is clean enough to stay on either way.

I clean it as best I can, but I know I don't do a good job. I've never had to clean my own clothes, my father always sending the clothes out to be washed by some poor woman that needed to make ends meet. The night is still young, but the moonlight is bright enough that I can see most of the bloodstains are gone. Having a few won't hurt my cold-blooded killer gimmick either, so I decide to throw it on the sand to dry and take care of my skin, untwist my hair from its braid and dip my curls under the water.

At first, when Cinna had told me he would be braiding my hair, I was worried he would try to make me look too much like Katniss, but it turns out my hair is too short and unruly for that. He called it a fishtail braid - appropriate, I laugh to myself - and it was lovely, and complex, and I will never be able to replicate it.

I flip my hair over my head and feel the strands lightly whip my back, thick streams of water flowing down my shirt. I look over and see Calisto is _looking_ again. Okay, so I look like a drowned rat, there's no need to stare! I thought we were past this, too. He knows I am not skilled enough to earn a 12. He allied with me because he saw that number and saw sponsors. He doesn't have to keep _looking._

"What?" I snap angrily and he only shakes his head before following my lead and stripping down to wash his suit.

Splendid joins him shortly after and Rory tells me I have to hang the suit to dry. We inventory our weapons once again and try to ignore our thirst. At least the night is cool. But I know that we can't go on for much longer. I consider asking, remembering that Katniss had swallowed her pride and looked to the skies to ask for water, but I know it would do no good. Neither Haymitch nor Katniss would waste valuable resources on sending us water.

I _know_ there has to be drinkable water somewhere, we just have to be clever enough to find it.

At some point in the night, an hour or two since the rain, we hear a scream pierce the night and then the boom of a cannon. Seven down now.

Morning comes too quickly and I know we will have to move. We should have moved earlier, but we were all too weary. But I know that they will have to clean the blood off the leaves and ground somehow if they expect anybody else to fall for that trap and I don't want to be around to find out how they manage it.

The humid night air has done very little to dry our suits, so we move on in our undershirts and skin-tight pants, though I make sure that Rory and I have our belts on. No telling if we'll ever have to jump back into the water. I decide to wrap the suit into a hat around my head to keep the worst of the sun from hitting my face and teach Rory how to do it as well. Then Splendid insists I teach her, and Calisto figures it out quickly enough.

We look like a team, I think as we set off, and I try to ignore the twisting in my stomach as I remember that I will have to kill two of them.

* * *

We weave our way through the jungle, unwilling to be out in the open. It is midmorning when it suddenly becomes unnaturally still. I grab Rory's wrist and shout at the Careers' retreating backs, but they don't hear. I panic. Some primal instinct sends the hairs on the back of my neck to attention and I run towards my allies. The force field is flawless. I don't even notice it until I run right into it.

By some miracle, perhaps the impact made some sort of noise, Calisto looks back and his eyes widen when he sees us on the ground. He runs back, pulling out his sword, and I shout at him to stop, raise my hands since I know my voice is useless, but he doesn't understand in time. He is sent flying into his sister as he rebounds off the force field he ran into facefirst.

We all stand, staring at the scant inches that separate us, not understanding what this means. Is it just meant to split is us up? No, that's not necessary. They love watching alliances fall apart. And the rebellion can receive no bigger blow than us turning on each other. The Districts cannot trust each other if they see how easily we can betray one another.

The wind hits us first, and it carries with it the scent of the sea, and that's how I know something horrible is coming; because the wind is coming from the _opposite_ direction of the manmade sea. And it is only because of those books that I spent so much time reading, those useless books I always considered worthless, that I guess what is coming.

 _Tsunami._

I push Rory to a tree, easy enough to climb, but strong and most importantly tall. "Climb, Rory, climb!"

I have no time to explain and I'm happy that he is still unquestioningly following my orders. I climb up after him as best I'm able, but we are neither of us expert climbers. There was nothing to be used as a substitute for a tree at the Career Camp and the rope climbing station at the Training Center in no way prepares you for tree climbing.

The roaring is next, and it is a miracle that we hear the cannon blast over it. Eight down. We are as high as we can go without snapping the branches we are perched on. I can only be glad that the trunk of the tree is large enough to cover our bodies even this high up. And then I see it. Crystalline blue with foaming white.

And we are nowhere near high enough.

I grab one of the sharper knives from my arsenal and stab it in the trunk as hard as I can. Either desperation lends me strength, or the tree is hollow, but the knife is buried to the hilt with one strike. I have enough time to wrap my arms around the trunk, gripping the knife as hard as I can, and keeping Rory trapped between my body and the tree, when the wave hits.

The tree groans grotesquely and bends enough that the rushing water reaches our hips. "Hang on, Rory!"

I can't let go. We'll be flung into the force field and fried. Or held in place and drowned. If the force of the water doesn't crush us. Right now, the only thing keeping us alive is the fact that the tree is taking most of the impact. I can hear the people in the Capitol laughing. They're literally drowning the embers, the sparks, the protégés of the girl on fire.

I don't know how long the water rushes by, but eventually it calms and an ocean surrounds us. Then it recedes. When a hovercraft arrives to take a distant body, I assume it's safe enough to move back down.

"Are you okay?"

Rory nods, but I can feel his entire body trembling. I decide to stay in place a while longer, to keep his obvious fear from the cameras for as long as I can.

Things have become more complex since the reaping. My first thought was of Gale, how if I played the Games as they were meant to be played, I would be proving to him that I was every mean thing he'd ever thought of me, of my family. Then I thought of the Everdeens; of Katniss, Prim, and their mother. Of how close they are to the Hawthornes, as close as the family the Capitol claims they are. How even if they were happy I survived, if I let Rory die in order to survive, they'd never be able to love me, truly, the way they love him. When Hazelle hugged me, I felt indebted to her too. My own parents had given up on me, but she still held onto hope for her son, and her inner strength moved me. I thought of how young he was - even though Stitcher is younger -, I thought of how District 12 would think of the mayor's privileged daughter winning, of Haymitch's drinking, Katniss' nightmares, Peeta's charming yet hollow smiles.

And then Rory took my hand on the chariot, and he ate lunch with me every day, he told Stitcher how cool I was, and he gushed about how I would be the best big sister at his interview with Caesar Flickerman. Every time we interacted, he was kind to me, even though he must be as scared as I am. I wanted to sacrifice myself for completely selfish reasons; to not deal with the fallout from the Games, and maybe be admired for a few years by folks back home. But as time went on, as brief as it was, I wanted to sacrifice myself for him . . . for _him._

I whisper soothing words to him and eventually he gulps and nods and I understand that he is ready to move. I let him down first, as the knife is stuck and I struggle a little to pull it out. When I finally do, the blade is scratched and damaged and a thin stream of water follows it out of the trunk. I doubt I'll be able to use this knife again.

The District 1 siblings are surprisingly still waiting for us in the exact spot we left them. They are obviously reluctant to cross the spot marked by the force field, but I am strangely pleased by their loyalty. I wouldn't have blamed them for assuming us dead and leaving. I would have.

We walk for an hour before we decide to stop for another break. There are sixteen of us left but it will quickly be down to twelve if we _do not get water!_

I am so angry I don't notice the parachute at first. It is only the incessant beeping that gets my attention. I run up to get it, despite knowing that it could be for any one of us. Well, we're an alliance, so if it's for one of us, it's for all of us. None of us know what it is, though. I've never seen anything like it, and Calisto assures us that it's no weapon he's ever seen which practically guarantees it's not a weapon.

Calisto throws his head back and shouts to the sky, "Mom, if you're there, some damned water would be nice!"

Mom. I forgot. His mother is a Victor, that's why he's here. It didn't occur to me that they'd have to mentor their own loved ones. Katniss and Peeta had no choice, but places like 1, 2, and 4 should have the option of not being the one to send their children to their deaths. Did she choose to do so? Did she think she had a better chance of keeping at least one of them alive if she did?

Absolutely. And since we're allied, our mentors are working together which means that they all had to approve this gift before it was sent. A mother would not let her children die of dehydration. This must be something to get water, somehow.

And suddenly it snaps together. The hollow center, the tapered edge, the fanged rat Rory caught, and the stream of water from the tree. At the time I thought it was floodwater that had seeped in, but the knife was too tightly packed into the tree to allow even the least bit of water. It was from _in_ the tree! I have no idea what it's called, but I know what it's for.

I start hacking away at the nearest tree with a knife, careful to not cause as much damage to this blade as the last one. I ignore all questions, even as I know they must think I've lost it, and in minutes I am ready to place our gift in the hollow. Nothing happens for a few seconds, long enough to think I am completely wrong, but then a single drop falls out. They all hold their breaths as they figure out what it is I am doing.

I lick the top of my mouth with my dry tongue and have to stop myself from shouting in joy when a steady stream comes out. We take turns gorging ourselves with it, wetting our hair and faces. Calisto runs to the shore and grabs some large, hollow shells to fill, and it almost feels like a Sunday spent with friends.

Then a cannon sounds and any levity dissipates.

* * *

We spend a long time drinking from the tree. And then we take turns relieving ourselves when our bladders are overly full. It is about two hours after the wave hit when the gongs sound again. Twelve gongs, and then the lightning storm hitting the same tall tree. I'm glad we didn't stay there. Ancient books can't be right about everything.

But then, shortly after the lightning storm strikes we hear the telltale signs of rain. Just like last night.

I look up at the sky and realize it was about midday when the gongs started. It wouldn't be too much of a guess to say that it was midnight when the gongs rang based on how long it took for the sun to rise. I remember the Cornucopia and the twelve spokes spreading out from it. The force field that kept Rory and me trapped was perfectly wedged between two of the spokes. The District 1 siblings even told us how weird it looked, like a slice of pie.

Twelve gongs, twelve spokes, twelve wedges.

Twelve Districts?

No, that's not right. They don't care too much for symbolism. They prefer ham-fisted lessons. Like, look how we can force you to watch your children die and you can't do a thing to stop us. Ha!

Twelve gongs, lightning storm, blood rain. Then, nearly half a day later, a wave. I don't know if anything happened in between, but I'm willing to bet it did.

The lightning storm and blood rain keep happening even if they don't kill anybody, which means it's not for show. It's mechanized. Automated. Like the many alarms my father keeps to remind him when he needs to move onto a new duty in order to get his work done.

And that's it!

Twelve gongs, twelve spokes, twelve wedges. Midnight and midday. Twelve hours. It's automated by the hours!

"I get it!" I say and my companions all look at me strangely.

I know it's stupid to say this out loud, to announce to the Gamemakers that I've figured out their grand plan. I know what happened to Haymitch for figuring out his Games. But I don't care. It's too late for them to do anything to change it and I have to share it with them. Just in case I die too soon and Rory has to fend for himself. All he has to do is stay one hour ahead of the traps and he could outlast everybody else.

The Gamemakers want to make waves, well, I can make some waves as well.

"This place is automated. The traps are triggered by the hour, not our presence. This is a clock!"

I see the confusion, the uncertainty, and then the realization that I am correct flit plainly across their faces.

I can almost hear Haymitch say, "Clever like Maysilee," and I can't help the smirk that overtakes my face.

* * *

 **A/N:** A bit shorter than the last, and if it feels like I'm rushing through the Quell, **it's because I am.** We already know how the arena works so spending a thousand words on how weird it all is, is pointless. I also couldn't have Madge figure it out too quickly either, not trying to make her perfect. Even with her books and her father's alarms, it's a pretty big leap of logic to make without at least a full day.

Now that we got the big reveal out of the way though, **we can get to the 100% AU Quarter Quell!** Or, well, like 60% AU, the traps are still the same. More or less. **I changed the wave from how it was described in the book/shown in the movie** to help Madge put the pieces together and for DRAMA, basically.

As always, tell me what you liked, didn't like, and what could use improvement.

~ Destiny's Sweet Melody


	5. The New Trend

**A/N:** Gadge! So much Gadge!

 **Thanks to everyone** who favorite and/or added this story to their alerts! And to everyone else who's reading!

 **To fangirl:** Thanks so much! I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far. :)

 **Warnings:** Brief reference to drug abuse and mild mentions of the love triangle/square . . . because canon.

* * *

 **Unforgettable**

 **Chapter Five: The New Trend**

We decide to turn back, towards the large tree, and move clockwise. We put our suits back on, preparing for the coming evening air, and Splendid stuffs our gift into her bra, despite how uncomfortable that must feel. None of us can find a way to carry it around that wouldn't get in the way of handling a weapon. If we time it right, then we can stay an hour behind the traps and have one less thing to worry about. There are still fifteen tributes to worry about, but between the Career and the girl who got a 12, I get the feeling we are being willfully avoided. That can't last long, I know. If we are left in peace for too long, the Gamemakers will force us into a confrontation, set up a new trap, send in some mutts.

Due to our path, a looping, confused trek through the jungle filled with zigzags and diagonal trails, we lose track of the hours. Or rather which wedge is which hour. It should be about four hours since the gongs rang, but are we in the third wedge or already in the fourth? Are safe or in the middle of a trap?

Finally, we decide to wait and see. Optimistically, we expect to see a trap in the next wedge over and know that we are right on track. None of us is particularly optimistic. I wish, for a second, that I had lived in the Seam, where clocks are a rarity and people learn to tell time by the sun. Unfortunately, Rory was lucky enough to grow up in one of the households with a pocket watch at the very least and only half paid attention when his mother and Gale tried to teach him.

We settle at the tree line, unwilling to go too deep into the jungle or stand on the beach for all to see. Calisto is fidgeting and eventually recommends we gather some more water. I'd be all for it if he didn't recommend splitting me up from Rory. I narrow my eyes at him, sure that this is some sort of trap, and ask why he didn't want to go with his sister.

"I thought you'd feel better with a hostage."

I would, damn it. I grit my teeth, but eventually slide the machete from its sheath and agree with a glare.

I go with Splendid a little further into the jungle, somehow being declared the survivalist in the group for my ability to find water. Don't they teach this in the _real_ Career training centers in District 1? No, of course not. It never occurs to them that they might go hungry. This is the first time that the survivors of the bloodbath were not rewarded with food and drink aplenty. Maybe that's why so few died. There was no point in fighting for a pile of weapons that we are incapable of using.

I'm a little surer of myself this time, and manage to hollow out a path for our gift in half the time of my first attempt after I trade the intimidating machete for a much more useful hunting knife. It's still not quick enough.

 _Boom!_

The sound of the cannon sends my adrenaline rushing. I have no reason to think it is Rory, there are fourteen tributes other than him. Calisto would not _dare_ when I hold his sister hostage. There are a dozen different reasons why the cannon sounded, but the only one that I can think of is Rory lying dead in the sand.

I scream his name as I run, leaving Splendid and the gift behind. When I reach the spot that I left them, my mind can't comprehend the scene in front of me. Calisto is kneeling, clutching his shoulder with a grimace on his face. The District 4 boy is face down in the sand, the District 3 boy hovering over him, the long axe in his hand dripping blood and still poised to strike in the air. And Rory. . . Rory is also on the ground, on his back. . . I can't tell if he's breathing.

That's when I start screaming.

I still have the knife in my hand and I grip it so tight I think the handle might break. My mind turns into a haze and I can't think! I feel a rage like I never have before and I run at the 3 boy. I will kill him! There is no force in this world that can stop me.

. . . Except, just when I am a few steps away from him, his axe still raised and shock plain on his face, Rory suddenly springs up to his feet.

"No, Madge! Stop! He saved us!"

I can't comprehend his words but I stop because I can't risk him getting caught in our crossfire.

The knife falls from my hand and lands in the sand with a dull thump. " _Why_ were you on the ground?" My voice comes out in a scratchy wheeze, but at least it doesn't crack.

"I was exhausted," he shrugs as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "It was really exciting. The District 4 boy came out of nowhere and attacked Calisto, and then _he_ came and killed him."

 _"Exciting?_ Rory!" _I thought you were dead._

It was terrible. I was scared and angry and ready to die if it meant taking out his murderer. I have never felt such passionate feelings. Tears don't prick my eyes, but only because the adrenaline is still running through my system. I take the last few steps between us and pull him into a strong hug. My knees buckle and I drag us both to the ground before he returns the embrace. This is unbecoming of the girl that got a 12. It doesn't suit the arrogant warrior I convinced the Capitol I was.

But I don't care and apparently love - _real_ love, the love of family - is just as moving as tragic romance, because we have barely landed on the sand when the parachute lands. No one moves to get it.

Splendid appears and through the siblings' conversation I hear that Calisto has been stabbed in the shoulder. And that Rory saved him from a worse fate by throwing a rock at the District 4 tribute's head. Not very effective, but it was just enough of a distraction for Calisto to survive and their savior to arrive on the scene.

The District 3 boy has vines all up and down his body. He has stripped them of their slippery leaves and twisted them into belts and sheaths and rudimentary bags. One of them has little rolls of soft moss that he willingly uses to tend to Calisto. _Another ally?_

Why? The last District 3 alliance with a Career, and the first I remember ever seeing, ended horribly. And I don't remember ever seeing them ally with 12. Nobody ever wanted to before Rue. It's true that each individual tribute can make their own decisions, but there has always been traditional, if unofficial, alliances between Districts. Not just the Careers.

"Thanks, District 3," Calisto says after his shoulder has been wrapped.

"Styne," he answers simply. And then, because we all must look confused, "My name is Styne."

Katniss says it's worse to know their names. I know what she means now. Knowing his name, knowing he protected Rory for whatever reason, makes me want to consider him a friend.

"We need to move the body," Styne tell us. "For the hovercraft."

I help him pick up the body. Calisto wants to help, but his sister insists that he has to rest his shoulder for as long as possible. No idea when we'll be attacked again; can't waste his strength on a dead person.

We drag the 4 tribute into the water. I am careful to sheathe the trident on his back. No reason to leave a weapon somebody else can use on us lying around. We are careful to take him far, the water reaches my hips when the screams start.

My body freezes. I know the voice that's screaming in agony and calling for Rory to help. I know that voice, but he _can't_ be here. That can't be him. Because he would never call his little brother into any sort of danger. Especially not the kind that can make Gale sound so broken.

I know it's a trap, even though I don't know what kind. I call for Rory to stop, but my voice is drowned out as more screams start up. Some familiar, and some a mystery, but obviously beloved by the siblings as they join Rory in his mad dash into the jungle. We messed up. We miscalculated. We're in the middle of the fourth hour wedge.

"It's a trap!" I try to run, but the water slows me down and they are gone from my sight by the time I make it to the sand.

The screams shut off suddenly and the fact tickles in the back of my mind, but it is Styne's voice that stops me. "There's a force field!"

I stop an inch away from the invisible wall. I place my hands on it and do my best to keep my face placid as I realize I have failed. I have no idea what's on the other side of the force field, but I know it can't be pleasant. I will be separated from Rory for at least half an hour, and all I can do is hope that he'll outlast it or that Calisto can protect him. That he'll want to protect him.

"How did you know?" I ask my remaining companion. "How did you see the force field?"

"I didn't. I just know. We have lots of them in District 3," he explains. But the way his eyes flick from side to side makes me feel like he's lying. He can _see_ it somehow.

A few minutes pass and my eyes catch something fluttering in the trees, just before an arrow comes flying straight over my head. Sparks of electricity dance in the air where it made contact, but the arrow does not break.

My three allies burst through the trees, a flock of black birds hunting them. _The force field!_ They don't see the force field! I place my hands on the invisible barrier again, lean my weight on it so that I am diagonal to the ground, so that they realize something is holding me up. But their eyes, though wide, are unseeing. They look large and wild, full of fear.

Rory hits it first, and rebounds a good three feet, but he doesn't even seem to notice. Fear propels him to his feet and he runs at me, claws desperately at the barrier, but it does nothing. Splendid is curled up in the fetal position in the ground and Calisto is swinging his sword wildly at the birds. At one point he simply throws the sword, managing to hit a single bird, but the torture seems to continue unimpeded.

Rory gives up his feeble struggle, and covers his ears with his hands, tears flowing down his face as his mouth opens in a scream. My heart breaks for him. He doesn't seem to be in much physical danger, but somehow I know I have failed regardless.

* * *

The shield comes down eventually. By that point, all three of them are lying huddled on the ground. I approach Rory carefully, placing my hand on his back, rubbing soothingly. I don't have the words to comfort him. I can't even begin to understand what he's going through.

Styne is the one that finally checks the parachute and finds bread. Twenty-four little rolls that he says are the mark of his District. I figure his mentor must have ordered him to ally with us since the beginning and sent the bread as a reward when he finally managed it. He calls us to eat, offers the bread and roots and berries that he has collected. It does little to rouse my allies, but they at least move to sit in the sand and eat.

"They killed my family, Madge." Rory eventually hiccups and I freeze, unsure what I could possibly say.

"No, they didn't," Styne says flippantly. "They're just jabberjays."

"Jabberjays _copy_. Where do you think they copied those sounds?" Calisto snarls, and he looks ready to tear the other boy's throat off with his teeth.

"They can easily manipulate audio to say whatever they want. You're all family and friends of Victors, so your loved ones were interviewed at least once." Styne explains with a roll of his eyes.

"Is that really true?" Rory sniffles.

"Oh, for sure. I learned to do that when I was twelve."

"You see?" I tell Rory, "Your family's just fine."

At least I hope they are. They wouldn't have gone through all this if they were just going to kill Katniss' friends anyway, would they?

Nobody is in the mood to move on, and now that we are sure we will have twelve hours before the trap hits again, we decide to make camp there just behind the tree line. I realize that Rory has lost most of his arrows to the jabberjays. There are only five left in the sheath, and the others could have landed anywhere in the jungle as he blindly shot at the muttations.

Something comes tumbling into our camp and we all jump up to defend ourselves - _finally_ I load an arrow into my bow and aim it further into the forest. But it's not necessary.

We are not being hunted, the tribute crashing through the trees doesn't even notice that we're there, doesn't notice five different weapons pointed at her. She yanks somebody smaller than her roughly by the arm.

"Could you _hurry up_ a bit?" Her voice is high-pitched and whiny, just like when she cut her hand in the Training Center.

Stitcher's tiny form struggles to keep up with her long legs, especially with the large roots on the ground. He, however, does notice the weapons trained on him.

He digs his feet in, and tries to stop her. "Um... Annie..."

"I _told_ you not to call me that! My name is Anemone! Ah-neh-moh-nee!"

"Ah-neh-moh-nee," he repeats saucily. "Will you just look to your right?"

An insult is on her lips, I can tell, but it dies when she sees us. She freezes, what is meant to be a dazzling smile springing to her lips. She is the classic District 4 beauty; long brown curls, bronze skin, sea green eyes. I remember the traditional technique for their District is seductive, like Finnick O'Dair, or perky, like Annie Cresta before her District partner died. Anemone looks a little crazed. She's probably not used to working under such pressure.

Suddenly, she places Stitcher in front of her like a human shield. "Hey, Rory! You like this one, right?"

I understand what she's saying. She went out of her way to find him to ingratiate herself with Rory, which would place her under my protection. Another alliance. Are alliances supposed to be this big? The Careers number six, but usually one or two will die in the bloodbath or go rogue, sure that they can survive on their own. With Anemone and Stitcher we will number seven.

She wraps her arms around his shoulders in a friendly manner, but the implication is clear. If push comes to shove, she can snap his neck in an instant. "Truce?"

I huff but lower my bow and the others follow my lead. I do not like Anemone, but I don't want to have a twelve year old's blood on my hands. I hope I can get her to trip into one of the traps soon. But for now we invite her to sit down.

"Hey, have any of you seen Reef?" She asks after she's settled. "He's my District partner."

We all still, then look at Styne. It takes all of three seconds for her to understand what this means.

"Oh," she gasps. "Well, he was an idiot, but he was from home, you know?" And that's the last thing anybody says for a while.

When night falls and the trumpets sound, the first face to appear in the sky is the female tribute from District 3.

"Oh no," Styne sighs tiredly, but doesn't sound particularly broken up about it. "I should have tried harder to find her."

The District 4 boy that he killed, Reef, is next, followed by District 6's girl, a tiny thirteen year old. And finally, District 11's girl.

"Not Fiorella!" Rory's lament is thankfully drowned out by the sound of the anthem. I remember that he and Stitcher would occasionally hang out with the fourteen year old girl. Especially at the edible plants station.

Only fourteen left now. Rory's almost halfway home.

* * *

In the quiet that follows, we speak to each other. In a way that makes it seem like we're not in the Games, like we're not from separate Districts, but like we're just people trying to become friends. I wouldn't be surprised if this was being blocked from syndication.

Splendid tells us about the collar she wears, her token. _Choker_ , she insists it's called, although it doesn't sound much better, and it's all the rage in the Capitol. It's thick and an ivory color, embedded with diamonds and jewels. In the center lies a little plaque that reads, _To My Dearest._ She tells us it was a gift her last birthday from her father. In response, Rory shows her his token, a simple golden ring on his thumb that Effie gave him. I ask how having a Capitol father works, and she explains that legally she is not his child, but he still sends her gifts anyway. Calisto admits that his mother was never supposed to get pregnant by a Capitol paramour at all, let alone seven times, but she had always been a bit of a rebel.

Stitcher, surprisingly, stays by Anemone's side as she describes the ocean in 4, which she declares is infinitely better than this one. Calm one instant and vicious the next. Sparkling and clear, filled with an abundance of fish and clams that she openly admits most people illegally poach. It's an open secret, she declares when Rory and I tense, and the only reason 4 kids aren't starving and can even count as Careers.

Styne tells us about the factories in 3, how they put kids to work when they're seven. Their small bodies mean they can fit in the machinery to pull out obstructions. Many times they become another obstruction, their limbs being ripped off their bodies. Stitcher admits that the textiles factories are much the same, jobs separated by age, but the youngest burdened with sticking their fingers and limbs into dangerous, malfunctioning machinery.

Rory tells them about the mines, and the whipping post, and the pay cuts as the work hours rise. He tells them about the Seam, about the economic divide in 12, and the constant threat of starvation.

I feel so apart from these people. The ones who starve and steal and risk life and limb every day. From these illegitimate children that don't exist in the eyes of the law. I feel so sheltered, and suddenly I'm reminded of the reaping last year. Of Gale snapping at me for making a joke about being sent to the arena. How his reaction wasn't due to my making light of death, but due to the fact that I didn't suffer enough to take out tessarae. Not like Gale, and not like Rory.

At one point, Rory tells them about how his brother worked so hard so that he wouldn't have to ever take out tessarae - something he was forced to do under Thread's rule, not that it mattered this year - and of course all attention turns to my confession. Splendid wants to know more about Gale and Rory is all too happy to oblige. Beside me, Calisto bristles.

"How great can he be? What does he even _do?"_

"He's a miner," I answer and I already know he will not be impressed.

"A miner?" He repeats the word as if personally offended. "You like a miner?"

I grit my teeth but force myself to answer, "Yes."

He turns to me and suddenly his fingers are brushing my cheek, the feather light touch tickling me. "A girl like you, you deserve better than a miner."

His voice is deep and serious. He almost sounds sincere and I can feel my ears burning. I must look a red, splotchy mess and I turn my face from him, breaking our tentative contact. I know this must be a trick. Some attempt to recreate the star-crossed lovers saga, or to make my devotion falter. If I ever seem unfaithful to Gale, then nobody will believe that I will save Rory and then my tragic story goes out the window. _Already_ planning my downfall, huh? How despicable!

"Gale is brave and strong and kind. He didn't hesitate to help his mother keep his family alive when he was _fourteen._ He's passionate and fights for what he believes and he never gives up. I don't know anybody better than him. I don't think such a man exists!"

I am still a red, splotchy mess. Even _I_ think that was laying it on thick, but the Capitol will eat it up. I hope that at least this part of the conversation makes it onto the broadcast. Calisto snorts and turns away. Rory smiles at me as if I have put the stars in the sky. I wish I could apologize to him for lying. . . except at some point during my little speech, I realized I wasn't lying. I _do_ think all those things of Gale. And if that's all true, then does that mean. . .

I don't want to follow that train of thought. My stomach twists just at the implication.

When we finally settle for the night, it is decided Styne and Calisto will take first watch. I am loathe to close my eyes surrounded by so many tributes but I remind myself that they are all dependant on my 12 and subsequent sponsors. They can't kill me, not yet, not while there are still seven other tributes to kill.

I look at our mismatched group. Three Careers, two District 12 kids, and a boy each from Districts 3 and 8. I remember the Career Camp and how we trained to kill, how they're all here because of me. I think of Katniss and Peeta and how they changed the Games forever. I wonder if this will be the new trend. If 12 will become the new Career, the new District to beat.

Rory cuddles up next to me, his head lying on my breast, and whispers, "I wish things could have been different. You would be a great sister."

I will not cry. I barely breathe until Rory falls asleep. On an impulse, I kiss his forehead and I wonder if this is what it's like to have a sibling, or a child. I wonder if there exists a universe where I could be his sister. Where Gale could stop loving Katniss, could learn to love me. Not that I love him, but. . . I suppose it wouldn't be too hard to fall in love with him. Could admiration turn to love? I'm not sure. I've never seen a happy, healthy relationship.

I try to picture such a world and my heart constricts painfully. I close my eyes and force myself to fall asleep as I whisper, "Maybe in another life."

* * *

One day during the 74th Hunger Games, Gale grabs me by the wrist and pulls me through the crowd. We had gathered at the square with the Everdeens and the others for moral support. We were never together, not really. We weren't friends, and being a few steps from each other in a public space is nothing to look twice at.

But something happened on the first day of the Games. After the broadcast shut off and we were all directed home, Gale stood still as stone. I could tell by the set of his brow and the slump of his shoulders that he was tired. Tired of the stares of understanding and the words of compassion. I knew how _that_ felt at least. Enough people pitied the poor mayor's wife, always so sick she could barely care for her child.

I knew he didn't need sweet words and empty lies. He needed somebody to tell him to toughen up. I think that's what he did for me, in some weird way. So, without really knowing why, I approached him.

He gave no indication that he noticed me, but I knew that he had. He was a hunter, no amount of depression could dull his senses. "She's my friend too." My voice was sharp, not sad. I needed him to understand that I knew how he felt. "You fight on, because she definitely will."

I left without waiting for a response, not expecting one. The next day, I stood beside him in the square. He didn't greet me, but he didn't tell me to get lost like he would have before the reaping. Every day after that, we would stand next to each other, and I would stay by him until he was ready to go home, long after the large screen turned black. We never spoke, never comforted each other, never officially acknowledged each other.

Then one day - one of the days that Katniss and Peeta were stuck in the cave and they did nothing but talk, smile adoringly, and kiss - he grabs my wrist and drags me from the square even though it was still only early afternoon.

He doesn't speak, and I don't question him. I understand that he needs this, too. He could handle his heart breaking because his best friend died. He isn't ready to have his heart broken because she survived and lived on with somebody else. He leads me to the Meadow and to the fence, waits impatiently for me on the other side and I follow after only a few seconds' hesitation. He grabs my wrist again and leads me deep into the forest.

We don't speak for a long time. He shoots a few birds. He checks on his snares. He sits moodily on the ground. I sit next to him and wait for him to speak.

"She was my friend first," he snaps. And he sounds so grumpy that I want to laugh. It sounds so childish, so selfish, and so pure. It's the first time I see him as anything other than Katniss' perpetually angry friend.

I want to argue that she was my friend first, but then I remember that we're barely friends. Gale is probably her only true friend. And now Peeta, I guess. So instead, I nod, "Yes, she was." After a beat, I add, "That's why you want her to come back."

I see his jaw clench, and he glares at the horizon. "Yes, I do."

"And that's why you won't cause her any grief when she comes back." _You won't blame her for her survival tactics._

He breathes heavily through his nose, and it takes him a longer time to agree. "No, I won't."

"Because you're her truest friend." _Because you love her._ For some reason, I can't make myself say it. I think he figures it out regardless.

After that, he nods at me when I stand beside him in the square, and I smile at him. We talk a bit after everybody else has left. Discussing Katniss' chances, him criticizing Peeta in some way. One day, I walk with him into the Seam, stopping a few houses down from his because it feels awkward somehow to go to his home. Another day, he walks me to my home, all the way to the gate.

By the time Katniss and Peeta are crowned Victors, I feel as if we are friends. Even closer than I was with Katniss.

Then the train arrives and he disappears. Not completely, obviously. He's there to receive the train, and true to his word he only smiles and congratulates her. He doesn't grab her tight and spin her around or do something stupid like kiss her for all the cameras to see. But unlike in the square, he doesn't stand next to me. He doesn't nod at me. Doesn't even acknowledge me. I no longer exist to Gale Hawthorne as anything other than a potential strawberry patron.

I don't have much time to mourn the loss of my friend since suddenly Katniss spends the time she doesn't spend at home or the woods with me. I think that maybe she missed me in the Games, that she realized that I was really her friend and we should build a stronger bond. When she implies that she wants to take me to the woods, I jump at the chance, remembering how peaceful and liberating it was with Gale. I don't tell her it's not my first time out there. The memory is special to me, and I want to keep it secret, just for myself. . . and Gale.

My heart breaks a little when Katniss begins to open up more to me and she reveals that her best friend and her ally are both angry with her. Resentful that she can't choose between them, doesn't _want_ to choose either of them. Accidentally revealing that I was simply her only option. I know it is not her intention to hurt me, brutal honesty is just her way, so I just grin and tell her she could always count on me. I like to think I kept that promise.

I don't see Gale again until he's being whipped. When he's taken to Katniss' house, I know I have no right to follow, so I go home and cry. And my mother, miraculously, surfaces from her drug-induced haze to ask me what's wrong and gifts me some of her morphling to help my friends. I don't tell her that only Katniss is my friend now.

I tell myself I am doing it for Katniss. I care because she cares. But as I run through the snow I realize that's only half true. I care because she cares, but I hurt because Gale hurts. I realize at that moment that I can be his friend even if he's not mine, just like Peeta can love Katniss even though she's incapable of fully loving him back.

I am Gale's friend too, so I will fight on, because I know he will.

* * *

 **A/N:** **Did somebody say world-building?!** I can't find much on the world of Panem, even on the Wiki, so I just took a few cues from history. Child labor laws exist for a reason, y'all! This was so hard to write! I was busy all week, so I kept getting interrupted and losing the flow. If it's a bit choppy, please pretend it's an artistic choice signifying Madge's sleep deprivation!

I lowkey wanted them to run into the mysterious monster this chapter, but my muse decided it was time to hurt Rory. Poor boy!

 **Everlark is OTP** so please don't take offense to the second to last line. I'm not bashing the ship. It implies that **_at this moment in time_** Katniss can't fully commit to ANY relationship. Which Madge fully well knows since Katniss confides in her.

Styne. Like Stein. Like Einstein. Because District 3 people are _smart!_ I know, I'm a dumbass.

As always, tell me what you liked, didn't like, and what could use improvement!

~ Destiny's Sweet Melody


	6. The Real Bloodbath

**A/N:** Super sneaky MadNiss. . . in the past. FYI, MadNiss is the best ship name _ever_ , because it sounds just like Madness and that pretty much describes shipping, tbh.

 **The rating's T** , because I don't think it's any more graphic than the novel, which is YA, but if you feel like I should **bump it up to an M** after this, let me know.

 **To fangirl:** I'm glad you like my OCs, I hope they feel unique enough for this world.

 **Thanks to everyone** who added this story to their favorites and/or alerts! And thanks for reading this far!

 **Warnings:** Bisexuality, mentions of homophobic culture but no actual homophobia. Canon-typical violence, some gore, very brief mention of suicide.

* * *

 **Unforgettable**

 **Chapter Six: The Real Bloodbath**

I am woken an hour past midnight by something hard colliding with my face. I bolt upright, a knife in my hand. My other hand reaches to my face, looking for blood. All I find is a really sore spot that is sure to bruise. In the few seconds it takes for me to clear my head of sleep, I see Anemone standing over me with a smug look on her face. In her hands is an assortment of clams. She must have thrown one at me.

"Get up, we'll be leaving soon and you should eat while you're able."

I look around and see that I am the last one up. The others are all gathered on the beach, helping themselves to clams and fish that Anemone must have speared. Her weapon is something that looks like the love child of a throwing spear and a trident, almost as long as she is tall, with a small, two-pronged head. She tells us it's used to spear individual fish, and she has apparently made good use of it.

The courage of such a large pack has led them to light a fire out in the open in darkness, and so the fish is fried. Splendid thankfully had the presence of mind to grab the gift from where I left it in a tree, and they have filled many hollow shells with water. My stomach grumbles noisily. It looks like a feast!

We eat and discuss our next steps. We decide it is better to leave as soon as we're done eating. Better to have three hours between us and the traps than make the same mistake again. Our mentors, apparently, approve of our caution, because another set of parachutes land in our circle.

One has more bread, the mark of District 3 plain for all to see, and yet is Anemone that counts them possessively and declares there to be twenty-four. We each take three, and then unanimously agree to give an extra to Rory, Splendid, and Stitcher each. Now that we are strong enough to take the beach and Anemone is around with her twin-pronged spear, we won't have to worry overmuch about food.

The other parachute carries a little silver jar filled with a thick, creamy white liquid that makes Splendid squeal in delight and Calisto shout, "Thank you, mom!"

We spread the sauce on the fish and dip the bread and my taste buds explode. It is delicious, but my stomach has been empty for so long that I worry I might vomit. I am careful to eat slowly and gulp down lots of water so that I don't embarrass myself on national television.

"That's bread twice! You must have the nicest mentor ever!" Rory declares between bites of bread.

Splendid nods in agreement, "This sauce is the first thing our mom's sent us. Since I'm sure that pokey-stick came from 12."

I'm sure it did too, it seems like something Katniss would use in the woods.

Styne nods and grins, "Beetee. He's my mentor. Even from before. I was his apprentice back in 3."

Once we finish eating, we gather our weapons and head along the beach in a clockwise direction, heading towards the tree that marks the twelfth hour. We are arrogant in our numbers, taking the easiest path.

Only fourteen left, that means that we have half the tributes in our pack. Unless the tributes have somehow managed to split up perfectly into two groups, which is unlikely, we outnumber anybody that we may come across. Even if they could take down one of us in a surprise attack, the other six would descend on them. It's a death sentence, so no one will risk it.

"Who's left anyway?" I ask as we keep a steady gait.

"Cotton, she's from 8!" Stitcher announces.

"Bellona from 2," Anemone adds with a grimace. I remember Bellona from training. Only fifteen, but tall and thick with corded muscle. She can throw a spear as far as I can shoot an arrow. She reminds me a bit of Cato with her wild intensity. I hope a trap takes her out, because I doubt anybody else could.

"The boys from 6 and 7," Styne continues. "Both from 10, and the boy from 11."

I can remember their faces, but none of their names and I have no clue what weapons they might be carrying.

Even with a direct route, it takes us until midmorning to reach our goal. We wait for the tenth hour wave to hit and then take a circuitous route to that section when we hear an ominous sort of clicking coming from the jungle in the eleventh to twelfth hour wedge. We relax after the lightning storm hits and we know the clock has restarted. Anemone once again spears fish while we help her gather clams. After we have too many to count of those, she decides to dive deep for oysters. Since none of us are of particular help in that regard, we spread out and take up hobbies. Calisto cleans his sword with some moss until it shines. Styne takes off all his vines and takes inventory. And I sit on the beach and watch as our three younger members play in the water. Splashing at each other and screaming.

I can't help but smile. I wonder what it would be like if we all lived in the same District, or travel was allowed between Districts, or better yet, if there were no Districts at all! I think of Katniss and Rue. How close they became so quickly. How much Katniss misses her little ally every day. I think of Thresh and how he reacted when she died, how much he cared even if he never made any attempt to find her. Of course, he thought only one of them could live, and he probably had no reason to sacrifice himself like I do. I even think of Cato and Clove. How even though they were both eager to win at the cost of the other, when the rule change was declared, they hugged tightly and celebrated their fortune. How much her death hurt him, and how avenging her was so important to him.

If there were no Districts, if there were no Games, there would be so much love in the world.

When we begin to fry our fish, yet _another_ parachute flies down. District 3 bread again, twenty-four loaves. Okay, now even _I_ think Beetee is the best mentor in the world. We each take three again, but let Styne wrap the extra three in a long, glossy leaf for tomorrow. Just in case anything happens to our bread source.

During our meal, Rory asks me if Gale is my first love. I wonder if Haymitch snuck a moment to tell him to play up my would-be romance, or if he's actually curious.

 _Not at all,_ I think, but keep silent as I order my thoughts. My first love. . .

There was a moment there that I truly loved Katniss as more than a friend. She was the first person to not turn away when I approached her, she let me stay with her at school events, and she actually listened and responded when I spoke to her, even though I was incapable of talking about normal girl things like boys and clothes. There was a moment that I was sure we would grow up together, and I would bring her to live with me in my big, lonely house. Prim and their mother could come too, of course. But I was sure that we would be happy together. A real family.

But then Gale happened. They started hunting together and everybody started saying that they would obviously get married, two Seam kids together. And Katniss became colder overall. Suddenly, I realized that the perfect future that I had planned for us was not something she wanted at all.

And then Gale happened again, when Katniss left to the Games and he pulled me out through the fence. And he made me think, and he made my stomach twist, and he made me _feel._ And I realized that as strongly as I felt for Katniss, if I could forge an even stronger bond in so short an amount of time, then she couldn't be my truest love, but she'd always be my first.

In District 12, there's not too much care about who you live with. The scandals start when merchants marry Seam residents, but boy-girl, girl-girl, or boy-boy. . . nobody actually cares. The government does, though. Marriage is for reproducing; because marriage is just another way to serve the Capitol. It's how we produce the labor force and future tributes. Only marriages that can reproduce are allowed, disqualifying same sex couples. Sometimes, if it's proven that one of the members of a couple is sterile, then the marriage will be dissolved, even if it's opposite sex.

I know that it will not win me any favor to admit I loved the girl on fire once, so instead I say that when I was ten, I had a crush on Asher Poole. "One day I found the courage to confess my love and he told me I was gross. So I broke his nose, and that was the end of that."

Everybody laughs, and even I find myself smiling a little. Back home, I imagine, people are jeering and poking fun at Asher. Maybe he'll preen a bit, talk about how he was a heartbreaker even at ten. No way he'll tell the truth, no way he'll admit that I punched him because he called my mother a morphling addict and a waste of space. _She should just kill herself and be done with it,_ I think his exact words were.

After we are overly full, Styne declares that he has a plan to take out multiple tributes at once. We find it hard to believe, but he assures us Beetee won his Games in a similar manner. Shocking several of the other tributes at once until their hearts stopped or burst. I'm not sure which is worse.

"Power is electricity. And what is electricity if not lightning?" He points at something in the jungle.

I don't know anything about electricity, just that I flip a switch and lights come on, so I follow his finger and see what he's pointing at. It's the large tree that seems to be the only thing hit by lightning during the storm. I still don't follow.

He elaborates, pulling a spool of some sort from one of his handmade bags. "It's quite simple, really, we can use the environment to our advantage. At the tenth hour, a giant wave arrives and soaks the beach. Two hours later, lightning strikes that tree. If we wind this wire around the tree and onto the beach - into the water - anybody standing on the beach will be instantly fried."

It doesn't sound simple at all. I don't know much about electricity or wires, but I know what happens when you use the arena to win. Haymitch told me; _My mother, my brother, my girl._ There is a steep price to pay for making the Gamemakers look like fools. But maybe, since it's Styne's idea, Rory will not have to pay for it. Still, none of us is fully convinced.

"But we're the only ones on the beach," Anemone points out. "And won't it fry the fish?"

"Why are we the only ones on the beach?" Styne asks, his tone of voice making it obvious he sees us as children. He sighs, "Where would you feel safest? The jungle or the beach?"

"The beach, because of the traps," Rory answers.

"Right. So, why isn't anybody else here?"

"Because we're here." Even _I_ can figure that out.

"So if we weren't. . . ?"

His tone of voice is so superior, but I guess that when it comes to the mind he is. It's so obvious when he points it out. "The others would come out of hiding."

"Correct! If they think we're hunting them in the jungle, they'll head for the beach."

It still seems kind of risky. Especially since he didn't answer the question about the fish. A food source, the only real food source I could find - I don't trust myself to differentiate between the edible and poisonous plants - would be gone. All that would be left would be three bread rolls. Nobody says it, though I'm sure they've reached the same conclusion. After midnight, we will be enemies.

If even half of the tributes die in Styne's trap, then the rest will be easy pickings. We could hunt them down before the sun even rises. And then what? There would still be seven of us left. Would we allow each other to break apart, give each other a head start in honor of our alliance, and then if we run into each other anything goes? Or would it be another bloodbath? A _real_ bloodbath. Will the 75th Hunger Games be done before the sun even rises on the fourth day?

* * *

A cannon sounds, and the hovercraft lifts a blood soaked body from the third to fourth hour wedge, despite the fact that the fifth to sixth should be activated. Somebody is still playing the game, monster alliance or no.

When night falls and the sky lights up, only one face appears. District 11. Thirteen left. Our alliance now outnumbers all the other tributes. My stomach twists as I realize the longer we linger, the more danger we are in. After midnight, the rope will snap, one of us will decide it is safe enough to survive alone and attack the others and it will be a free for all.

I feel confident I could survive most of them, Stitcher and Splendid are alive only because they've had protection. Anemone's weapon is close to mid-range, which means I could take her out with an arrow from a distance. I haven't seen Styne actually use his pole axe, but I doubt he's easy prey considering he took down a Career. Still, his weapon gives me the same solution as Anemone's. But Calisto? He's a Career, born and bred, and I have no doubt that he would come out the victor in a bloodbath. No, our best shot is to run from him, lead him into a situation where I could use my arrows to my advantage.

I want to leave! Every inch of my body wants to take Rory and run. But if I'm the first to break the alliance, even if I don't attack, the others will hunt us down. I couldn't win against all five of them at once, and I can't risk Rory like that. And Rory has decided to trust Styne, and wants to see his plan to completion.

Shortly after the wave hits, we reach the lightning tree. At my insistence, Styne takes the lead. "He can see the force fields," I say when Calisto questions why.

 _"See_ the force fields?" I can tell by his voice that he doesn't really believe me.

Styne just shrugs, "I can't, we just have a lot of them in 3." He leads us, and again I _know_ , no matter how ridiculous it is, that he can see it. He looks intently at something in the distance, somewhere in the upper right corner, and then declares we shouldn't pass beyond the lightning tree. For good measure, he picks up a fallen branch and throws it. It hits the barrier and dances in the air a few seconds, sparks flying around it, as it turns an angry red color before shooting back towards us. Thankfully, it lands before it hits us.

"That makes sense," Styne declares, but it's obvious that it only makes sense to him. But none of us question him, only stand guard as he sets up his master plan. There's nothing to do but wait as the wave recedes and that creepy clicking starts up, much too close for comfort. I don't know what's in that wedge, but I'm sure it's not there just for the creep factor.

"It's time to initiate the plan," Styne announces. "Splendid and Rory, you should take the spool down to the beach, when you're done, head for the next wedge over, not back here."

I glare at him, regretting ever agreeing to this foolhardy plan. "Why them? They're the youngest."

"That's why Anemone is going to guard them," he answers, already foreseeing my complaint. "And it's because they're the best at moving through the jungle. You and Stitcher are too slow, I have to stay here, and I need Calisto to guard me."

"Then I can go with them." No way is Rory going to be alone with Anemone when the rope snaps.

"No, twelve, I need you here guarding me too." Twelve. . . somehow I know he's not referring to my District. Damn that score! All it's done is force me into this trap of my own making. It feels like a noose is tightening around my neck.

"We're wasting time," Anemone snaps. "I don't want to be on that beach when the lightning strikes, and I'm sure you don't want your little in-law there either."

My hand spasms, wanting to reach for the bow or the machete, but I _can't_ be the one to break the alliance.

"It'll be alright, Madge," Rory tells me, his voice as soft as his smile. "I'll see you on the other side."

It sounds so final. Eventually, I nod, knowing I have no choice but to go through with the plan. It's too late to turn back now. I wonder if back in 12 Gale is screaming at the screen, cursing me for leaving his brother unprotected. _I will save him,_ I promise myself. _Even if I have to kill everybody myself._

I watch until I lose them in the shadow of the trees, the bright moonlight not enough to pierce it, then I notch an arrow in my bow. In this little clearing, I could easily hit somebody coming at me. Or standing beside me.

The clicking of the insects is reaching a crescendo when the wire suddenly goes slack. We exchange confused glances when the cannon sounds. My heartbeat goes into overdrive, but I force myself to stand my ground. It's not Rory. There's no reason to believe that it's Rory.

Then the second cannon sounds.

I take off running, calling his name, knowing that the only way two tributes could be killed so close together is if they were allies. Rory and Splendid? Did Anemone decide it was time to cut her losses and run? Was the thought of losing the seafood, her primary food source and the only real advantage she has, too much to bear?

"Rory!" I feel like all I've done since entering the arena is call his name.

I am halfway down the slope when I see them. Two small bodies, a boy and a girl, unmoving on the ground, the boy is facing upward, his chest caved in and seeping blood. Above them a tall figure, a male, not Anemone. But did she run and leave the others to die?

I cross the distance in an instant and impale the machete so far into the 7 boy's head that I have no hope of ever pulling it out. A scream pulls itself out of my throat. _I can't. . . I can't have failed._ And then. . . I haven't. Rory isn't dead on the ground. Neither is Splendid. It's the pair from 10.

I turn sharply when I hear huffing come from up behind me but it is only Stitcher. He is speaking to me, his voice coming in frantic gasps, but I can't hear over my blood pounding through my head. I didn't even really hear the cannon that must have sounded when the 7 boy fell. I look around, trying to understand what happened. The wire is on the ground, snapped neatly by a knife. I can't tell who did it, and it doesn't even really matter. The wire snapped, the rope holding our alliance together _literally_ snapped.

 _Where are you?_ I whip my head around trying to find some hint, some sign, of where they went. Did they continue on to the beach? There was no point if the plan would fail. Did they go back to warn us? Is Rory waiting for me at the lightning tree? No, I would have run into them on the way down. _Where are you?_

Something golden catches my eye, and I realize it is too tall to be Splendid, the hair too long to be Calisto. It's coming up at an alarming rate from behind Stitcher. I panic and string an arrow, yell at Stitcher to move out of the way, and don't even wait for him to throw himself to the side before I let it loose. I miss him only by a miracle, and my target easily dodges it.

Bellona throws her spear with a guttural shout, and I try to sidestep it. I'm half a second too late and I feel a slight sting as it grazes my side. I stand my ground, notch another arrow, and release it in less than a second. It hits her left eye, which would be impressive if I hadn't been aiming at her neck. But she ducked at the wrong moment, believing that I would aim for her head, and all but impaled herself. A strangled sort of sound comes out of her and she manages to take three more steps before falling face first into the ground, the cannon going off a moment later.

My heartbeat slows a bit, and the chattering of the insects takes its place as the roaring in my ears. In the relatively quiet moment, the pain begins. My knees buckle and the bow falls as my hands instinctively go to my side, where Bellona's spear hit me. They come away slick with blood.

The graze is not a graze. I don't have to strip off my suit to check it. I already know I won't recover.

Stitcher runs over to me, face pale and mouth open. I want to tell him to toughen up. This is it, I realize. I don't know if I have the worst luck, Styne has the best luck, or if the Gamemakers somehow herded us all together, but most if not all of the tributes are in the same place. Those four cannons will signal to everybody that there is no safety. No one knows who is attacking who, who is left standing. They will panic and attack each other on sight, alliance or no alliance. It's the bloodbath, the real bloodbath, the free for all the Gamemakers wanted. The 75th Hunger Games will be decided in only three days. I wonder if the Capitol citizens will be disappointed it was over so soon, or be impressed. Then I decide I don't care. _Screw them,_ that Gale-like voice snarls.

"Stitcher, listen to me." My voice is still strong, despite the fact that all I want to do is curl up on the ground and fall asleep. "Please, find Rory and bring him to me." I can hold on for a few hours. I can protect him while the others tear each other apart.

His head jerks up and down. I can't tell if he's agreeing or if it's a nervous tick. "You have to promise me you'll bring him to me. Promise me, Stitcher. Promise."

"I will. I do. I promise."

His face is still pale, and his eyes are still wide, but he runs down the path in the direction of the beach. It's as good a guess as any. He doesn't even pull out a weapon to defend himself with. I lean against a tree and do my best to stay strong, at least on the outside. I grit my teeth and pull some of that moss Styne carries around off the trees, zip open my suit and stuff it against the gaping wound before zipping the suit back up. I can do nothing but wait, but I'm confident that I have at least half an hour to get Rory and get away.

I startle when I hear rapid footsteps and shuffle behind the tree just as the tribute walks into the path.

"Anemone," I call out to her. I still don't trust her, but she's my only link to Rory.

"Twelve?"

I do my best to walk out towards her, wincing with every step. She narrows her eyes at me, her spear clenched tightly in her hands. "Where's Styne?"

Styne? Why does she care about Styne? "S-still at the tree. . . I think. . ."

"Plan still on?"

My head is getting fuzzy. "The wire snapped." How could the plan still be on?

She looks me over, assessing me, and then smirks. I open my mouth to ask about Rory, angry at myself for being distracted, worried about all the blood I have lost, when she swings her spear, the blunt end hitting me in the forehead near the temple. I feel the skin slice open as I fall to the ground on my back. I groan in pain when she steps on my arm. I see her raise her spear up and close my eyes, angry that I cannot even face death head on.

The skin on my arm is sliced open and I feel the twin-pronged blade twist inside before being pulled out. I can only be glad that I don't scream like I want to. Her foot comes off my arm, and I wait for what she will do next, how she will torture me to death. A moment passes, and then another, and I open my eyes to the trees overhead.

She is gone as quickly as she came. Does she think the hit to my head killed me or that it eventually will? My arm is numb, but I am able to move my fingers when I try. I try to lift myself up, but put too much pressure on my wounded arm, my side pulls sharply and I can feel even more blood rush out. I end up right back on the ground, the world tilting dangerously and forcing my stomach to spin with it.

I stare at the branches, waiting for my mind and stomach to settle, but instead spots begin dancing before my eyes. I can feel the darkness begin to pull me under and all I can think is _No, not yet._ I still haven't kept my promise. I still have to save Rory.

Something flutters in the trees. As my eyes close, I think I see candy pink wings and a sharp golden beak, and I think it croaks _Maysilee._

* * *

 **A/N:** Cliffhanger! No worries, there is still more to come. This is not the end, not yet anyway.

Next chapter: **canon and AU blend together** and we find out where Madge fits within it.

As always, please let me know what you liked, didn't like, and thought could use improvement.

~ Destiny's Sweet Melody


	7. The Spark

**A/N:** I hope I don't lose any of you as readers after this!

 **To fangirl:** I'm glad you liked it! I assumed most people could guess where this is going, although, as I admit at the bottom notes, it was actually going somewhere COMPLETELY different than where it ended up. Hope it's still entertaining regardless.

 **To TessiePessie:** Welcome! I'm glad you like my story, and I'm super glad you approve of my portrayal of Madge! I hope the rest of the story reaches your expectations.

 **P.S.** You know what's painful? 12 hour shifts!

 **Warnings:** Mentions of drug abuse, allusions to parental child abuse, miscarriage, canon-typical violence.

* * *

 **Unforgettable**

 **Chapter Seven: The Spark**

The majority of the time, my mother is lost to the world, smiling at things that no one can see, or laying in bed with an empty look on her face. She wasn't always like this. I can't really remember what type of person she was, but I imagine she was warm and kind and loving. My fondest memory, my earliest memory, is of her chasing me throughout the house with a sheet thrown over her head, making spooky sounds pretending to be a ghost. When my father came home from work, he stared at us for half a second in silence before picking me up and taking off full speed, declaring he would protect me from the fearsome entity as I shrieked with laughter.

That didn't last long. When I was around five or six, my mother began getting debilitating headaches, which would keep her in bed for hours. Then she started becoming paranoid, being frightened by the smallest noise, and jumping at every sharp moment. Then she lost the baby. Something went wrong and she was in pain for a very long time and the doctor prescribed morphling. She got better from the pain, but she convinced my father to keep buying morphling because she said it helped with the headaches and the tension. It started small. One dose in the morning, and one in the afternoon. Then it didn't help with the paranoia, so she took a bit every time she felt an anxiety attack coming up. That was already at five times the recommended dosage.

By the time I was seven she was a morphling addict. By the time I was ten, everybody knew it, and people like Asher Poole reminded me of the fact at every opportunity. At least most of the others had the decency to not use such direct words.

Sometimes, the best of times, my mother is clear minded. She rises from bed, cooks us up a small meal, she reads, and asks me about my day. Those moment are like a knife to the heart, because I realize that to her the days in between don't exist. She asks me about my day as if it were the next from the last time she asked me. I wonder if she even knows I'm seventeen by now. I wonder if she even knows I am in the Games right now, or if she thinks she's watching her twin die all over again.

Then there are times when she reacts negatively to the morphling. She rises from bed and for a moment I think it will be one of those bittersweet days that I live for, but then I see the look in her eyes. On those days, she is not my mother, and I am not her daughter, I am a monster, one she intends to be rid of. She throws things, spews hateful words at the top of her lungs until she loses her voice, she scratches at her own face and slams her entire body into the walls. That's why my father fired the maids and cooks, sends the laundry to be done outside of the house, and keeps a skeleton crew on his staff. She'll attack anybody in the vicinity. . . and it would not do for people to talk badly of the mayor's wife, even if it were based in fact.

The worst times are when she gets a hold of a weapon. Not a _real_ weapon of course. We don't have spears and swords lying around in our house, but in her feral state anything can be a weapon. A shoe, a book, even a butter knife. Once, when I was eleven, she silently stalked to the kitchen, turned on the stove, and dug around the cutlery drawer. I thought it would be one of the good days, so I sat at the dining table, waiting for one of her special breakfasts. I smelled the burning but didn't think anything of it until she came over to me. She didn't hold a dish; she held an angry red butter knife that she had been holding to the stove, in her fury she didn't even feel the flesh of her palm being cauterized.

Instinct made me jump out of the seat and run away as she chased me with loud, thundering steps. My father came home three hours later, the stove still on, and my mother asleep in bed, her hand badly burned. I was in the hallway closet where I had managed to lock myself in, the back of my thigh almost numb with pain.

I come back to consciousness all at once. The brown wood of the closet door replaced with the treetops in the blink of an eye. _What time is it?_ It must still be before midnight, I would be fried otherwise, but how long before midnight? Was I unconscious only for a minute? Do I still have half an hour, a minute, a second before the lightning strikes? Did Stitcher find Rory? Did they reach my prone form, believe I was dead and move on? Is anybody else even left alive? With the four dead beside me, I know that there are presumably nine tributes left. Unless somebody died while I was unconscious and I missed the cannon.

Only one way to find out. I force myself to my feet, more carefully this time, rolling over to place my weight on the nearest tree instead of my arm. Once on my feet, I take a moment to breathe, to will the earth to stop spinning, my ears to stop ringing. Oh no, wait, those are the insects. I am facing up the slope and I am too afraid to turn towards the beach, sure that my head will begin spinning again and I will fall, and this time I will not get up.

The sound of a cannon makes me move my feet; somebody, somewhere, is still playing the game. If anything, Styne and Calisto are up there, and Anemone was heading for them. I have to warn them, or see with my own eyes that they are dead. I have to go slowly, and for once I am grateful that the trees and vines are packed so tightly together, because I can barely take three steps without having to grab onto something to keep myself upright. The sound of the insects is surprisingly soothing. As long as I can hear them, then I still have time.

It takes me ten minutes to make the two minute journey up the slope, and just before I reach the clearing I hear a scream. Something inside me feels vindicated at the feminine scream just before the cannon sounds. There is carnage before me at the peak. Anemone is on the ground, writhing, still alive, and clutching at her eye, or what's left of it as blood pours out between her fingers.

Her spear is sticking out of the prone form a few steps in front of her, the 6 boy, I think. Calisto is nowhere to be found.

Styne is still beside the tree, but lying on his back and unmoving. He is still alive though. I can see his mouth moving as I get closer. One of his arms is cut and bleeding just like mine, and his other hand is tightly clenched around something. I can't tell what it is, but it's not a weapon. It's a fallen branch, a long strip of golden wire wrapped around it and leading to the lightning tree. I didn't even notice him cut off any part of the wire.

This close, I can hear his words, yet I still don't understand. "I have to. . . Beetee told me. . . Beetee says. . . have to. . ."

Is he still talking about the plan? Does he really not realize the plan fell apart long ago?

"Madge!" I hear Rory shout just as the insects' song dies out and I fall to my knees. "Madge!"

I don't respond. He can't come here. Me and Styne and Anemone are about to die, shocked until our hearts stop or burst. If he comes here, he will die too. _Just run, Rory. Stop shouting and run!_

I'm cold and trembling and it is by pure luck that I see it. I look upwards in despair when the flashing of the approaching storm - the Gamemakers sure love their suspense - catches the force field, or at least a part of it. A small wavering square in the upper right, and I finally realize that I am right. Styne _can_ see the force fields! Or at least that one weak point. It's nearly flawless, but it's enough, if you can get something strong enough with a wide enough range, you could probably hit it. But then what? Not even the Capitol arrows Rory shot could disturb it. It'd take something with more power. . .

 _"What is power if not electricity? What is electricity if not lightning?"_

Styne's words ring in my ears and suddenly my mother is there, with the angry red butter knife in her hand. Red because it's metal, red like the branch of the lightning tree. My mind is still hazy, my thoughts all disjointed, but I feel like I can almost fit the pieces together. I look at the wire on the branch that looks like a primitive spear. Did he try to throw it? For what purpose? The wire was to send the electricity to the beach. . . wasn't it? What would happen if the lightning hit the force field?

What is electricity if not lightning?

I think of Haymitch and how he used his force field to win his Games. Is that what Styne was trying to do? Kill us all in one strike to be crowned Victor? No, I feel like there's something else, something I'm missing, the puzzle piece that could make everything make sense. _"Beetee says. . . have to. . ."_ What would his mentor tell him to do? Win, obviously, but something else. . . something absolutely necessary.

What is power if not lightning?

Without really knowing what I'm doing, I take the wire from the branch and wrap it around one of my arrows. I try to think of how this might help Rory win. It may kill most of the tributes, it may do nothing, it may kill _him._ Maybe that'd be better in the end, being a Victor didn't help Katniss, Peeta, or Haymitch. I wonder if Gale will hate me for this, if Hazelle will curse me for getting her son killed after holding me so kindly.

I force myself to my feet just as Calisto crashes through the trees and I aim at him instinctively. He doesn't see me yet, and I wonder if he will look betrayed to find me treating him as an enemy. In the end, we were always enemies, weren't we?

Another memory surfaces, a much kinder one. Gale has walked me home after watching the Games. He stops just outside the gate, braver than I was, but still not prepared to breach that final barrier between us. I think he will just turn around with perhaps a nod goodbye, but instead he lingers, and so I linger too, eager to hear what he will say, what he might do.

"I hated you not so long ago," he says, and it doesn't even sting because I know it's true. He hated me, and I wasn't that fond of him either. Our only connections were Katniss and strawberries. "I thought you were the enemy. I thought everybody that wasn't just like me was the enemy. But. . . now I know who the real enemy is." Then he nods goodbye and leaves without waiting for a response.

 _The real enemy._ Obviously, he was talking about the Capitol, the people that took his best friend, that forced him into the mines, and now took his little brother. But what difference does knowing make? What could any one of us do?

Calisto finally makes eye contact with me, notices the arrow, and. . . does nothing. He raises his arms in surrender, his eyes almost pleading. "Madge, get away from there!"

My arms are still in position to strike, and they tremble with the effort. The real enemy. I think I understand the puzzle a little bit better now. I understand that this has all been a part of a much larger plan. My dress, the pin, this wire, it's all part of something much larger that's been in development since Rue died. I know from the news sent to my father that 11 revolted immediately after her death, moved by Katniss' tenderness and angry that such a young child died so brutally. They were beaten back, but not defeated. 11 is still part of the rebellion, just like 8 and possibly many more.

But it has not been able to move past this stage. No one else will answer their rally cry, not even 12, home of the girl on fire. They need something else, something to set the nation in motion. A spark, I realize, and I almost falter as I realize that Cinna and my mentors have been using me. I am the spark, my sacrifice will be that spark. Rue set the tinder with her death, and I will spark it to life with my own, but Katniss is the flames, and she has to survive no matter what. I am torn for an instant before I realize that I was always planning on dying anyways. Maybe now someone will remember me even after my parents are gone.

I turn back to the force field, turn my face skyward for a second, "Katniss! Please save him!" It's selfish to ask that of her, but it's all I can do for him now. Then I drown out everything else as I focus on the shimmering square. I can hit stationary targets.

My hair stands on end and I loose the arrow half a second before the lightning strikes. Not quick enough. I am blown back by the current that streams through the yards of wire that are still in the process of flying up and land on my back. My limbs are stiff with shock, like the current that ran through the ladder in the hovercraft that brought me to this place. The sky seems to flicker once, then twice, and then golden showers spark across it.

Fireworks. My hazy mind can only think _pretty_ , as the sky falls down around me. The entire arena is falling apart. I want to smile, but the muscles in my face refuse to cooperate. Nobody is going to forget _this._ I take a moment to think that it's not so bad to die like this; lying in a clearing, fireworks going off above you, as your body numbly bleeds out.

And then the ground explodes.

* * *

This time I wake up slowly, it's a wonder I wake up at all. I was sure I was dead, if not due to the lightning or the wound, then because the ground around me was falling apart. It takes me longer than I'd like to admit to realize I am not in the arena. I am on a comfortable bed in a sterile room where everything is metal and shiny and new. The Capitol? Is this a Capitol hospital? Why would they save me. . . unless. . . I am the Victor because my little stunt got everyone else killed.

 _No!_ That can't be! I was supposed to save Rory not cause his death. I try to call for somebody but my throat tightens with despair. Above my head something starts beeping and in an instant a small battalion of people dressed in white swarm to my bed, hold me down, and twist buttons on the walls and the machines connected to me by a myriad of wires. There's a high screechy sound in the room and it takes me a moment to realize it is my own voice.

I thrash around futilely but unwilling to go down without a fight.

Then, suddenly, I hear a familiar voice. "Get off her!"

Katniss is there, and she sounds angry. One of the healers is thrown to the ground and the others back off. She is before me suddenly, her eyes sad and understanding, but her face hard as stone. She offers me her hand to sit up and then orders the people in white out, promising to call them back if anything happens. They shuffle out uncertainly and I am left with two of my mentors; Peeta standing a few steps back, worry plain on his face.

Katniss hands me a glass of water and after a moment I manage to croak, "Rory?"

I know there can only be one answer, but I am surprised when Katniss says, "He's fine. We managed to get him out, all of them out."

"Out?" I'm confused. Nothing she's saying is making sense, but I am relieved at hearing that I managed to keep my promise somehow.

Katniss' face crumbles and she hugs me. "I'm so sorry, Madge," she sobs, and I am so startled that I can't even hug her back. I simply stay still as she explains. "I didn't know. They didn't tell me until _after_ you went into the arena and even then I was kept in the dark."

"It was too dangerous to talk about the plan in the Capitol." Peeta explains as the door slides open and Haymitch walks in, calm as can be. At least he's sober.

"Plan?" I'm still confused.

Katniss straightens up and glares at Haymitch, "Tell her."

So he does. He tells me about the rebellion, about the parts that I couldn't possibly know even with my father's insider information. He tells me that 11, 8, 4, and most surprisingly 1, were in open rebellion against the Capitol, how the others were still too afraid - too weak - to fight back and the Victors refused to give up their comparative safety. Then a stroke of luck, relatively, came in the form of the Quell, when the Victors realized that they would be punished, their loved ones would be punished, whether they condoned the rebellion or not. Most of the Victors decided to join the rebellion, and all the Districts but 2 sent word that they would be willing to help in some way, so the rebels quickly cooked up a plan.

The tributes from 3, 4, 8, 10, and 11 all had some sort of idea of the plan. The main problem was the impossibility of communication between Districts, and once they arrived in the Capitol it was even more impossible. Stitcher was considered too young, so Cotton was supposed to do her part but failed, and we never met up with 10 or 11. Reef apparently decided that he was better off playing the Games as the Capitol intended - probably lost his mind from the duress like Titus did so long ago - but Anemone managed to do her part, ripping the trackers from our arms with her specialized spear. Luckily, Styne was the important piece of the plan, using his wire to shut off the force field.

"And you, of course." Haymitch says easily, even though he had been all but crying about me going into the arena a few days ago. "We needed the Mockingjay's tribute to be as rebellious as she is, and you did marvelously. Above and beyond expectations!"

"Yet you never told me," Katniss mutters angrily, still glaring daggers.

Haymitch snorts, "You would have never agreed. _I_ barely agreed until just before the reaping. It was a risky plan, especially with only a select number of tributes knowing only bits and pieces of the plan. There were too many variables, the only reason it worked is because Madge is as stubborn as you are. It was a shit plan, but the only one we had."

"Please keep us in the loop from now on, okay, Haymitch?" Peeta asks, the mediator as always.

"Yeah, yeah. We're a team from here on out. We might all get fired anyways, seeing as we're a week behind schedule now."

"A week?"

I am told that I have been unconscious for a week since they took me from the arena. When I ask where we are, they tell me we are in a hovercraft settled somewhere outside District 1. "We're _supposed_ to be heading to District 13, but your condition was so delicate that we needed help from an actual hospital. 1 is holding out the best against the Peacekeepers, so we decided to settle here. Plutarch's not happy with any of us, especially not you."

"Wait! Wait! District _13_? Plutarch? As in Heavensbee?" I rub my forehead as a headache forms and somewhere in the background something starts beeping.

Peeta walks up and puts a hand on Katniss' shoulder. "I think this all just a little too much, too soon. Let's let her rest a little more and then slowly give her the details."

"But what about-"

 _"Later_ , Katniss."

She clenches her jaw, but nods. She squeezes my shoulder and then walks out with her. . . _something._ They are much more comfortable around each other now, almost like they were in the cave, except that was fake and now they are free to be themselves with one another.

Haymitch takes Katniss' place sitting on my bed and after promising to not give me any details, he simply smiles and says, "For what it's worth, I'm proud of you. You were very brave, and clever, and the rebellion would never have happened without you. If it were up to me, you'd live the rest of your life comfortably tucked away in a little cottage in the woods, but well, it's not up to me."

"Thank you, Haymitch. For what it's worth, I think Maysilee would be proud of you too. And so am I." Haymitch Abernathy, the drunk all of Panem made fun of just a year ago, was now fighting in the rebellion. That seemed more impressive than mindlessly shooting an arrow on a guess.

He smiles tightly, nods, and leaves me alone. I think that after a week unconscious I would never be sleepy again, but all too soon I sink into darkness again.

* * *

I don't wake up until the next day, and the nurses quietly check my vitals and bring me a breakfast of broth. I want to smile as I realize they're all scared Katniss might fight them if they upset me. My best friend, my first love, fighting for me. If only this could have happened a year ago. Then I remember how comfortable she is with Peeta, in a way she isn't with me or even Gale, and I think that may have just led to another heartache.

I wonder when I decided what I felt for Gale was heartache.

It is noon when my friends return to my room, after the doctor declares I'm stable and they release me from most of the machines, only one remaining in my arm, but they're not alone.

"Madge!" Rory runs at me, and I instinctively open my arms for him to jump into a hug. I have never been much for physical interaction, but in this moment this is the only course of action that makes any sense.

Tears prick my eyes, "I'm so glad you're okay."

"Of course I'm okay, you saved us Madge!"

I tell him he's wrong, I didn't save anyone, wasn't even sure what I was doing, but he insists I did and the others agree. I let them have their opinion, and then ask who he means by 'us'. They tell me that by the time the force field blew, Cotton, Bellona, and the tributes from 6, 7, and 10 were all dead. But my alliance was somehow miraculously intact, injured, but alive, and they managed to get them all out, the Career Victors managing to procure various hovercrafts for our escape.

I am undone by relief, something coiled tightly inside me releasing itself at the thought of my alliance surviving. Even Anemone, who I was apparently completely wrong about. Rory tells me she has an eye patch now, which is very cool in his opinion.

We talk a little bit of nonsense, nothing too important so that I will not be overcome by my emotions. Until, that is, I mention District 12. Then they all fall quiet, and my stomach twists in apprehension. I don't know what that means, but I know it can't be good.

Katniss takes my hand, and that's how I know that what comes next will be a blow. "Madge, after the force field was down, and they realized what we had done, that your alliance came out intact, they needed to punish us somehow. 12 especially. . ."

No. . . "What happened? Is it because I was the one to bring down the force field?" I remember Haymitch's Games and how he was punished. "My parents! What happened to my parents?"

The machines are beeping again and the world is tilting slightly. I'm surprised the nurses haven't rushed in yet. Katniss captures my face in her hands, "Your parents are fine, Gale managed to get them out."

"Gale?" I don't understand. He never liked the mayor or his supposed perfect life. Was it repayment for trying to save his brother?

"Apparently Hazelle had brought them to watch the Games at Katniss' house in the Victor's Village," Peeta explains gently. "That's probably what saved them, the town got hit pretty bad. But Gale managed to get many people out."

"Out? I don't understand. Where are they if not in 12?"

Katniss drops her hands from my face to her lap roughly. I can tell it's not easy for her to say this either. "Madge. . . there is no District 12."

* * *

 **A/N:** I honestly considered stopping the chapter at the force field being blasted, but that was under 3k and I was just like "No, it can't be shorter than the prologue!" This is still relatively short, but _this_ is it guys! 100%, turbo speed AU from here on out. It _has_ to be different, because not only are a lot more of the Victors fighting for the rebels, but Katniss hasn't been broken by two consecutive Games and losing Peeta.

So, quite a few people survived, and you're probably thinking this is gonna be the sugary sweet version of the war, but **don't let your guard down yet!** There's going to be a body count - it's war, after all - but it will, hopefully, have a satisfying ending for all of us.

 **Confession Time:** I mentioned in chapter 2 that this fic was originally going to be titled **Radiant** and the reason was that it was supposed to be about Madge finding her self-worth and realizing that being passive towards the Capitol's machinations was just as bad as helping, and **she was originally going to die.** The sequel was going to be told in alternating POVs as they honored her sacrifice. But, I liked her too much as I wrote her and decided I would be committing the same lazy writing I accused Collins of making when she killed her off-screen for drama. And, I'll admit, I wrote myself into a corner when I decided to bring the rebel's plan into the story lol.

 **Hopefully, I haven't lost any of you yet.**

As always, let me know what you liked, didn't like, and what you thought could use improvement!

~ Destiny's Sweet Melody


	8. We'll Be Free

**A/N: You guys are so awesome!** I was seriously afraid people would think I took the easy way out by having Madge survive, but you all surprised me with your support. I can feel confident continuing it now! **I hope you enjoy the rest of the story just as much!**

When I started writing this story, I had planned on splitting it into two stories, the Quell and the Rebellion. But once I decided it would be pointless to go through book canon all over again (once I decided to keep the same arena) I realized the Quell alone would be too short a story. So now we will have **one big story**. How big? I'm not even sure yet. Let's find out together!

 **To SSJ:** Thanks for reviewing and I hope you enjoy!

 **To Guest:** I prefer slow burn to insta-love too. And I love that you like my OC enough to be interested in him being with the main character lol.

 **To fangirl:** I think I've made my feelings on madge's canon fate pretty clear lol, so let me just say: Same! They're gonna be dropped right into the new world next chapter, so hopefully it lives up to your expectations.

 **To TessiePessie:** I couldn't tear apart the Hawthornes! Madge's parents were partly to give Madge more of a reason to fight, and partly because Hazelle is the kind of woman that keeps her word, and if she promised Madge she would visit her parents then she would.

Also, the one-sided (maybe) Gadge, is now officially **slow burn Gadge.**

* * *

 **Unforgettable**

 **Chapter Eight: We'll Be Free**

It takes two more days, hours of physical therapy, and lots of medicine before I am allowed off the hovercraft. And even then, we are quickly shuffled into a car and driven to a bunker on the outskirts of 1. My feet do not touch the actual ground until we are several miles beneath the surface. My recovery has been very fast, aided by the fact that I refused morphling and instead received little pills that did little to dull the pain but allowed me to keep my wits and therefore excel at physical therapy. It has done nothing to endear me to the rebellion.

Katniss refuses to move to 13 without me and Rory, and Peeta refuses to leave without her. Haymitch seems to find it all very entertaining and therefore stays as well.

Rory was left on the hovercraft, since he is considered too young to attend a rebel meeting, and that's why I am surprised to see Splendid there, smiling, and glowing, and alive! She takes one look at my drab hospital outfit and pulls me to a back room. She pulls out a dress, black with red flowers and a lacy trim, and tells me to put it on.

"This was my sister's, but she outgrew it. I _knew_ they'd put you in something frumpy. 13 fashion sense is the worst I've ever seen, and I've only met like three of them."

The dress is a little too short, and a little too tight, but I am grateful for it. Not only because the outfit was one the worst things I've ever seen, and strangely cold as well, but because I see it as the gesture of friendship that Splendid meant it as. She asks after Rory and if I have seen any of the others. I tell her about Anemone but admit that I have no idea what happened to Stitcher or Styne. Did they get sent back to their Districts or to 13?

Why do any of us, not including the Mockingjay, have to go to 13?

Oh right, it's because there is nowhere else to go, there is no longer a District 12.

Somewhere around nine hundred. That's what Peeta told me when I asked how many made it out. Somewhere around nine hundred. . . out of ten thousand. Less than ten percent. My stomach twists as I think of the part I played in this tragedy. If I hadn't been the one to shoot the arrow. . . if Styne had managed to hit it with his makeshift spear. . . would 3 be the new Lost District and would I still have a home?

We make our way to the control room where the meeting has already begun, and see a wall filled with screens all replaying the same thing: scenes from the Quarter Quell. There I am killing the boy from 2, splitting open the 7 boy's head, shooting an arrow into Bellona's eye. And the arrow, over and over again, the arrow.

Katniss reaches my side, "You don't have to watch this Madge."

"Yes, I do."

I do. Seeing myself like this puts things into a new perspective. During the Games, I was able to ignore the worst of my feelings. I focused on saving Rory and managed to convince myself that it made me a good person to be willing to sacrifice myself. But now I can see myself as everyone else did. I was silent, focused, and brutal. I was a monster.

Both the Capitol and the rebels use my image now to their benefit. While Katniss is the perfect image for the rebellion - the poor girl from the Seam that managed to pull herself up by the bootstraps and defy the Capitol - my being the mayor's daughter is a double-edged sword. The Capitol uses the fact as justification for the destruction of 12 and the violent reaction to the revolts in the Districts. Look how wild we all are, if even the ones they give the best of conditions to can rebel then we are all lost causes, all we know how to do is bite the hands that feeds us. On the contrary, the rebels use my special status as proof that even Capitol lapdogs can change their ways, that we can unite, that we can win.

I can't decide which story is more insulting.

There is a lot of back and forth between my mentors, the District 1 rebels, and the District 13 representatives. Katniss refuses to become the Mockingjay until she can be assured her family - fictitious cousins included - will be safe, which isn't something that can be exactly promised. 1 is split between understanding her motives, and being shocked at her lack of resolve. Well, they _did_ produce Careers after all, they probably don't understand what it's like to not be bloodthirsty. The people from 13 seem unable to comprehend Katniss' worry, assuring her that 13 is safe and that she will see them when she agrees to be the Mockingjay.

Do they really not understand that it sounds like they are holding the Everdeens hostage, or do they just not care?

"I'll decide once I see my family," Katniss declares and no one is able to sway her. Eventually, after two hours, it is decided that we will be allowed access to 13 and then, hopefully, they will have a willing Mockingjay.

The meeting then turns to the situation in 1. The Career system, something so reviled in the other Districts, was working to the rebellion's benefit. There is a large percentage of the population that were extensively trained in the deadly arts. They managed to take the Justice Building with swords, and knives, and clubs, and kept it with the weapons they took from the Peacekeepers. But even so, they were having trouble keeping the District in their own hands. The population was large, but not all of them were Career-types, and the Peacekeepers seemed endless. It didn't make sense; the Capitol was small compared to the Districts, but their large, palatial towers were always filled, no matter how many Peacekeepers were sent to the Districts.

"Maybe they breed them in some underground lab," a tall, athletic man from 1 mutters and the pair beside him snicker mischievously.

The man from 13 ignores them and drones on for about three hours more. I don't understand half the things they talk about, and am preoccupied by the thought of my parents in some strange underground lair, where everything is so secretive that they will not let Katniss - the symbol of the rebellion - in unless she agrees to sign over her life to them. I bristle at the thought. Hasn't she had enough of that from the Capitol? And if she agrees then Peeta will follow, and Haymitch has apparently done so already. And, I realize, Gale will follow too. He's probably excited by the prospect of a rebellion, but if he had any doubts about leaving his family or not being able to care for the Everdeens for Katniss, they will be swept aside once she accepts.

 _If_ she accepts. Katniss has never held much love for the Districts, not even 12. She may care for the people, but she has never much cared about changing things. It was enough to survive, she could accept the horror as long as she and Prim could escape it. And now they have. She and Prim could run into the forests and be lost to the Capitol forever now that she is not tied to 12. The Hawthornes would follow, if 13 is as dreary I imagine it is, and Peeta would follow her to the ends of the earth if she asked. If there is nothing tying her to Panem, could she leave us all to perish?

 _One step at a time, Madge._ There's no point in worrying about such things now.

When the meeting is finally over, Splendid drags me and the others over to meet the people leading the resistance in 1. Victors, I am surprised to find out. The Victors from 1 had always seemed to love the Capitol despite everything, the man that had made the comment more than any other. Augustus Braun, the Cavalier Career and darling of the Capitol. I was nine years old when he won the 67th Hunger Games, so I don't remember what he did to earn that nickname, but I remember how the Capitol sang his praises. I wonder why he turned against them.

The two next to him were Cashmere and Gloss Shields, a brother and sister team that had won consecutive Games just a little before he did. Cashmere is the youngest of the two, but she throws her arm around her brother whenever someone unknown approaches that reminds me of the way I held onto Rory's hand in the arena, like she's afraid she might lose him at any moment. I warm a little more to them, confronted with proof that they are not the heartless machines they act like in the Games.

Then comes Lacey LaFont, Splendid and Calisto's mother. The woman that defied the Capitol by getting pregnant not once but seven times. I am at once shocked at her beauty, and her name. Lace is delicate and frilly, not a woman that killed twelve tributes in her youth. But it suits the woman before me quite well. She is at once beautiful, aged, and striking, still fit despite her age and childbearing, and she exudes an aura of danger, as if she was still perfectly capable of killing a dozen able bodied youths with her bare hands.

She also watched me in the arena with her children, probably expecting me to slit their throats at any moment, and when I pointed an arrow at her son. Her son who probably always had the best of intentions since his mother is a rebel leader and most likely told him they would get them out. He was trying to keep Rory and I alive, and all I did was think of their deaths. I wonder if she hates me.

As if sensing my thoughts, she smirks and informs me, "You were as good an ally as can be expected. Thank you."

I find myself curtsying in my too short dress, the old manners and courtesies I was taught as a child rushing back to me. "Your children are good people, I'm glad they both survived."

"So am I," she teases and I am reminded of Calisto.

The Victors all speak amicably to each other for a few minutes, and then we make our way back to the hovercraft. I have spent most of my time with Rory and I am loath to leave him alone, we are comfortable with each other in a brand new way. I can honestly say I can trust him with my life, and he has no doubts that I would give up my own to preserve his.

I separate from Katniss and the others almost immediately and go in search of him. The hovercraft is large, but there are only so many places he could be, since we are restricted from most areas. I am leaving the cafeteria when I hear his voice and I am rushing to him before I freeze mid-step. There is somebody talking to him. . . about me. . . and I know that voice.

"I couldn't just leave Madge," Rory argues. "She kept me alive!"

"I've kept you alive for much longer!" Gale snaps back and it feels like I've been slapped. I don't know what I expected, but a complete disregard for my sacrifice was not it.

Rory makes an angry sound, "That's not what I meant and you know it. It's different. It. . . just is." Gale exhales so loudly that I can hear from behind the corner I hide behind. I don't mean to hide, I just can't make myself move. "Why did you come here anyway? Was it just to criticize me?"

I wonder if Rory has ever talked back to his older brother this way. He was always so sweet and obedient, even during the Games, that I doubt it.

"I came to get you, ma's worried sick."

"Then you wasted the trip," Katniss appears at my side, and grabs me by the elbow so we look as if we had been strolling the halls together. "We are leaving for 13 tonight, just waiting for the cover of dark."

Gale flushes, probably wondering how much we heard, and Rory rushes to my side. I am glad for it, I don't feel comfortable when I can't keep an eye on him.

"How'd you convince them to let you come all the way here anyway?" Katniss asks with an eyebrow raised.

Gale shrugs, assured that we heard nothing that would cause us anger. "I might have implied that I could sway the Mockingjay to their side. You know, being your cousin and all."

Oh no, there's that smile. The one that's been directed at me all of once, and that still occasionally haunts me in my dreams. I try my best to ignore it. Especially since it's pointed at Katniss.

"What a happy coincidence then," she deadpans. "Why don't you come join us for lunch?"

She grips my arm a little tighter and spins me around with her as the others follow. Just before we turn the corner, she looks over her shoulder at Gale and smiles.

"Oh, and Gale? Don't ever imply that Madge's efforts were somehow lesser than yours again."

* * *

I head to the observation deck to meet up with Rory like we have every night. I guess I should have expected Gale to be there. Katniss may have been kind to defend me, but Gale was somewhat correct in his opinion. He has been protecting Rory for five years, and has kept him alive with dangerous habits like hunting and backbreaking labor in the mines. Compared to that, my choosing to die for him was almost negligible.

"Madge!" Rory greets me with a warm smile, but Gale only stiffens and continues to look out the window.

The view is breathtaking. We had been watching the environment around 1 for the past two nights, but now we are in the sky, over the clouds. Occasionally, the clouds part and reveal lakes and valleys underneath. The world is strangely beautiful. I never took the time to appreciate that, but being in the arena, surviving the arena, has whet my appetite for life. I want to see the sea that Anemone described, I want to walk amongst the valleys that we are flying over, I want to run in the forests around12.

If we win the war, if I survive the war, I wonder if I will be allowed to do so.

We stand in silence, looking out the window into the deepening night rushing by. Rory occasionally makes comments, and we both answer him in the same gentle tone you give a small child. I almost laugh to see we are finally similar in something, even though I doubt Gale would admit to such a thing even under threat of torture.

Suddenly, Gale speaks, "I. . . I'm sorry."

I startle at his words. One look at him shows me that he is still looking outside. For a moment I think he is speaking to Rory, asking for forgiveness for snapping at him, until Rory tugs at my hand. Oh! Me! He's apologizing to me!

"D-don't be. I know you've done much more for him than I have."

Rory gives an exasperated sigh, and Gale finally turns to look at me.

"You don't have to be so _good_ , you know." He glares at me and I almost laugh. Good? Me? How can anybody ever consider me good again after everything I've done? "I'm not used to owing people. I'm no good at it. I was angry at myself, and I didn't mean it. What you did for my brother, I can never repay that."

My face feels like it did that night that Calisto brushed his hand against my cheek. Even with Rory between us, this moment feels unbearably intimate. "You don't have to. I did it because I wanted to, you don't have to feel like you owe me anything."

Gale glares again. Oh, it must sound like false humility to him, like I'm trying to get his guard down to get an even larger promise from him. So I assure him, "I wouldn't want you to pay me back. It would make me uncomfortable. Besides, you saved my parents."

"Ma's more responsible for that," he shakes his head sharply. "She went to see your parents - said she promised you - but that the house was too big and quiet and dark. So she picked up both our families and brought us to Katniss' house. Said it was because they have a nicer TV, but it turns out your mom was friends with Mrs. Everdeen back in the day and it brought some of the life back in her."

I didn't know that either. Their age and the fact that they were merchant kids led me to believe they knew each other, but I didn't know they were friends. I feel like a failure of a daughter. I've complained so much about how they never attempted to make me feel more loved, but I never tried too hard to bring us together either.

"I would have gone back for them, regardless." He says suddenly, as if realizing he sounded a bit callous about my family's lives. "After all you've done for Rory, I could do nothing less."

I smile at him, knowing he _would_ have gone back. And he would have died. I saw the images of 12 at the meeting. The Seam burst into flames because of the coal, but the town looks like a crater. My parents would surely be dead if they were home, and Gale would have died foolishly trying to pay a debt that I would never have called him on, and I. . . if I had not been reaped, would I have burned to death in my home? I shudder to think about it.

"We're even then."

His jaw clenches but he turns his attention back to the window.

"I hear there's a rebellion," Rory says into the quiet, and something about how steady his voice is makes me worry. "Do you think this is it? Do you think we'll be free?"

Gale snorts, "We'll win this war or we'll die."

Rory takes it as reassurance. If the price is so high then we _must_ be able to win. He smiles and takes my hand in his left and Gale's in his right. I don't want to disillusion him, but I know what Gale really meant, and it wasn't reassurance. Peeta had said something in the cafeteria, about a war being dangerous because there were so few of us, that if either side goes too far then the human race might go extinct. Gale had sneered, considering such thinking another brand of cowardice, but perhaps the words had stuck with him.

We'll win or we'll die, but at least we'll be free either way. The Capitol cannot reach us in death.

* * *

 **A/N:** Ugh! This is even shorter! But this is technically just an interlude, connecting the two stories I had planned. It probably sounds like I'm just making excuses, but the next chapter _is_ longer, I promise!

 **I hope you liked Gale and Madge's first "live action" interaction.** If he seems a bit cold here, don't worry, he'll warm up soon. I'm sure he'd react just like Katniss did if someone declared their love for him on national television, so he's not just gonna be "sure, let's give dating a try!" But trying to save his brother probably would give her some extra points in his eyes.

And if you found it unrealistic that Katniss would speak out against Gale for Madge, remember that **she just had _Madge's life_ in her hands**, so she's probably a bit overprotective right now. They'll go back to being besties soon.

So, tell me what you liked, didn't like, and what you thought could use improvement!

~ Destiny's Sweet Melody


	9. The Music's Gone

**A/N:** Look, I love the trilogy, and I even like _Mockingjay_ , though I'll never forgive the fates of Madge and Prim, but I felt like Katniss never really became more than just a piece in somebody else's game. I _need_ a universe in which she _chose_ to become a rebel because she believed in it, not just because she wanted to save Peeta (no matter the shipper feels). Expect a more involved Katniss - though it will take a bit to get there, and this story, as it follows Madge, will not be focusing on the Star Squad.

 **To TessiePessie:** Yes, exactly! Madge went above and beyond for Katniss (although, as mentioned, there was some selfishness as well). And, once we get into the battles, Madge's trauma will make a more distinct appearance.

 **To SJJ:** There is ALWAYS room for positive female friendships as far as I'm concerned.

 **To fangirl:** There will definitely be more Madge-Hawthorne family moments in the coming chapters. And there _might_ be some subtle, blink and you miss it jealous Gale in this very chapter! LOL. Madge THINKS she's going to be a generic soldier, but she's been wrong before, so stay tuned!

* * *

 **Unforgettable**

 **Chapter Nine: The Music's Gone**

I am short, I am aware of this. Merchant kids tended to be on the shorter side, especially when compared to Seam kids. Still, it seems almost as if everything Capitol made was built with giants in mind. All I want is an extra blanket, and even on the tips of my toes I can't reach the pile on the top shelf of the supply closet. The door slides open, but I ignore it, sure that it is only one of the nurses.

"I don't remember you getting that injury."

I jump forward and take down a bunch of plastic bowls with a loud clatter at the sound of Gale's voice. I turn quickly and see him in the doorway. My face burns and my tongue ties itself before I force myself to take a deep breath. This is _Gale_ , he's my friend, nothing more. And I don't want him to be more, don't expect him to want to be more either. I would rather go back to sniping at each other than turn into a stuttering mess every time he's around.

"I. . . what injury?" I received a lot of scrapes and bruises and scars in the arena. The worst of which is on my abdomen, but the stitches on my head are especially unsightly. "You're going to have to be a bit more specific."

He waves his hand vaguely in my direction, "On the back of your thigh. It looks like a burn. Did it happen with the lightning?"

I tense, realizing which he means. The skirt must have risen enough to reveal the mark on my upper thigh. I don't even have time to be concerned that he saw so much of me, all I can think of is my mother and the knife and my heart beating so strongly that I thought it would fly out of my chest. No one knows about my scar, or how I got it, except for my parents. Gale is not close enough to me to know that story. He would never understand; his world is black and white and there is no room for understanding what morphling can drive a mother to do to her own child.

"No," I finally say. "It's from before."

We both stand awkwardly, the conversation effectively dead. I have never been much for conversation, my friendship with Katniss was born from our mutual love of companionable silence. Finally, he clears his throat and runs a hand through his hair. I try to ignore the way my stomach flutters at the sight, and the way a voice in the back of my head wonders what his hair feels like.

 _It feels like all hair,_ I tell myself angrily. _There's nothing special about his. Why would there be?_

"I was looking for an extra sheet too," he says. "I can help with that if you want."

I nod, not trusting my voice to come out as strong as I want it to. Why is this happening now? I have never been shy with Gale before. Or at least not any more than I was with everybody else. I'm not popular, or easily likeable, and I don't have an easy manner to just start talking to virtual strangers. If I've ever spoken to Gale it was, at first, because Katniss was there to act as a mediator - a familiar presence that gave me the courage to snap back whenever he gave me grief over being the mayor's daughter. As if I somehow chose that life! Then it was understanding, and a stubborn desire to keep Katniss' best friend - the only thing left of _my_ best friend - alive and well that led me to talk to him during the Games.

Is it because of the interview? I wonder how he reacted to it. Did he get angry, did he scream at the screen, did he get embarrassed? For some reason, I feel he probably just quietly walked away from the screen in order to avoid attention. He was probably humiliated and angry, as well as sure that I was just using his little brother. I want to tell him it was just part of a plan and that he doesn't have to worry about letting me down easy, but something stops me. It sounds like that same voice, and it's telling me that would be a lie.

Gale is easily tall enough to reach the top shelf and hands me a sheet before taking one for himself. He tells me it's for his own use, that he's staying in Rory's assigned room on a steel chair. I think that will be completely uncomfortable, but don't think he would appreciate me pointing out the obvious. We part ways with an awkward good night, barely looking at each other.

Something in my heart stutters a bit as I realize just how uncomfortable we are with each other. I hope someday we will get back to what we had during the 74th Hunger Games. That easy camaraderie born from mutual understanding. I hope someday Gale will call me his friend.

* * *

"It's different than I expected," I mutter under my breath. Rory hears me anyway and he nods in agreement as his eyes look around us in awe.

District 13 is not what I thought it would be. Well, it's still dreary, but I had been expecting some dark cave filled with troll-like people. 13 has electricity running all through it, the fluorescent lights at once casting dark shadows, and being so bright they hurt my eyes. It goes further down than I even thought was possible. The people, contrary to be being human moles, are all neat and tidy, dressed in almost identical outfits, militaristic in their discipline.

We are given exactly one hour to get with the program.

As I remove my District 1 dress to put on my new jumpsuit, I see my reflection in a shiny mirror. I remember how flawless Katniss was after her Games, glowing and scar-less and perfectly coiffed. I am not so lucky. The people that saved my life obviously used Capitol medicine to close my wound in time and heal it so quickly, but they were clearly not concerned with aestheticism. The skin in that area is slightly paler than the rest of my body, jagged in a starburst pattern. I run my hands over it mournfully, adding another flaw to my mental tally.

 _Who will love me now?_ I shake my head furiously and force myself to dress quickly. Love has never been a concern to me. In my life, marrying for love was a fairy tale and the people that managed to do so were luckier than they knew, so what was the point in allowing myself to fall in love?

I suddenly understand how the Capitol citizens fall so completely for the stories created for the Games, _I'm_ starting to fall for my own.

I hurry to meet up with the others as a man named Boggs welcomes Katniss and Peeta - and ignores everybody else - and explains how District 13 works. I try not to shudder as he explains about the schedules that will be printed on our skins every day, about the carefully chosen diets, and the conscription into the military for all citizens over the age of fourteen. Suddenly, I am Soldier Madge Undersee. Once again, my identity has been taken from me and molded into somebody else's vision.

I try not to complain, especially as Rory seems excited at the prospect of having enough to eat every day. _Don't be such a brat,_ that Gale voice in my head says. Huh, I thought that would go away now that the real deal is around.

We are told which compartments our families are in and shuffled away from the goings on of the rebellion. I try not to panic too much as Rory heads in the opposite direction with his brother. From the way he keeps looking at me over his shoulder, I can tell he's not completely comfortable either. It feels like I'm still in the arena, like we never left and any moment someone may swoop down and attack me, attack Rory, and it's still important to me that he's stay alive.

At first, it was some weird sense of guilt that compelled me to sacrifice myself for him. I could never face Gale or Katniss again if I lived and he died. It started as a purely selfish sentiment, but as I got to know him during the time leading up to the Games, I realized he was much too nice, much too good, to be killed by the Capitol's machinations. And then, during our time in the arena. . . well, I can't help but love him now. I'd gladly call him little brother, even though nothing will ever happen with his brother.

I finally reach my assigned apartment, Compartment 317, and take a deep breath. It's already been confirmed that my parents made it safe and sound, but I'm still afraid what will greet me on the other side of the door. How sound can my mother be without her morphling? How safe can my parents be now that I've humiliated the Capitol? How long will I be able to be with them if I've been forced into the army before I could even catch my breath?

There is silence when I open the door, and for a moment I think I was sent to the wrong place, but then another door opens and my father appears. He stops short at the sight of me and releases a breath in a sharp gasp. "Madge? My Pearl? My little girl?"

He is before me in the blink of an eye and wraps me in a tight hug. I am frozen in place. He hasn't called me Pearl in years, and hasn't hugged me so tightly in even longer.

"Maylene! Come! Madge is here!"

My mother stumbles out a second later and her face breaks into a great grin at the sight of me. She runs to us and grips my face the way she did after the reaping, but this time the name she whispers is "Madge."

I wrap an arm around each of them and allow the tears to come as they will. This is all that I ever wanted. A family.

* * *

The next day I am given my first schedule. It's all I can do to not scratch at the blue ink on my arm. It reminds me too much of the tracker implanted in my arm during the Quell. Not only does it tell whoever's in charge of 13 where I am, but I need it to get in and out of wherever it is I'm meant to go.

I do my best to get with the program. It's not that hard for me to follow orders, living with the knowledge that some unseen presence was watching and judging my every move. It's exactly how I lived my life in 12 as the mayor's daughter. Katniss, however, has other plans.

"Peeta's family didn't make it," she tells me one day that she has snuck into my Nuclear History class, while her schedule says she should be in Weapons Research and Development. The news shocks me, but maybe it shouldn't. I remember the crater that was once the town on those screens. I'm surprised _anybody_ made it out alive. "Does it make me evil that when he told me my only thought was that I wished his father had survived. . . only his father?"

"No," I whisper back. I remember Peeta's mom, and I don't even feel guilty to think that she was no big loss, the way she beat her children for every small mistake. His brothers were cold to him, but they did not deserve to die that way. Nobody did. "It's natural to want certain people to survive over others."

"Oh right, you would know, I'm an idiot." I know she's talking about the Games, about my promise to save Rory no matter who I had to kill. We haven't talked about the Games, or the Capitol, or even the rebellion in anything other than the broadest terms.

We speak of home, and silly things, and how happy we are our families survived. We do not speak of the future, we do not speak of what it is to be Soldier Madge Undersee or the Mockingjay. We do not speak of our imminent deaths.

Until today.

"Haymitch says I can no longer avoid this whole Mockingjay thing. There's a meeting today and they want all the Victors not currently in battle to attend." She looks at me with wide, pleading eyes.

I want more than anything to be able to comfort her. Instead, I say, "I'm not a Victor."

"But you survived the arena, that counts for something." It counts for a death sentence. And as far as 13 is concerned, I am nothing more than seventeen year old cannon fodder. I am not the mayor's daughter, I am not the girl who got a 12, I am not the spark. I am nothing. I'm sure they would have been more pleased if I had died. "Gale's going too. For Rory."

She doesn't meet my eyes. We do not speak of Gale either. I'm still not sure how she feels about my confession, or the things I said in the arena. I don't know if she believes I love him, or if she believes it was just a plot. For now, she has elected to completely ignore it ever happened. But we still don't speak about him.

"I guess if I'm allowed. . ."

They only let me in because I'm with Katniss. The large conference room is white and filled with steel tables that remind me of our old school cafeteria, and they are each dotted with different numbers of people. It takes me moment to realize they are separated by Districts. My eyes immediately latch onto Anemone, wearing the same drab jumpsuit as I am with a black eye patch over her left eye. I recognize the people she's sitting with easily: Finnick O'dair and Annie Cresta. What surprises me is that Annie has her arms wrapped around Finnick's waist and he has an arm thrown comfortably over her shoulders.

I'm even more surprised when Finnick winks saucily at Katniss and she responds only with a roll of her eyes and a smirk. Anemone glares at me when I wave, there's no love lost there.

Katniss quietly explains that 4 lost two Victors during their escape from the Capitol, the oldest of which, Mags, sacrificed herself so that Annie could escape.

We pass by a table with only one woman who glares into the distance. Katniss tells me her name is Enobaria, the only District 2 Victor that joined the rebellion. "That was the biggest surprise. She really bought into the Capitol glamour, even sharpened her teeth into razor sharp points for her fans."

I try not to grimace at the thought but fail. We skirt around the District 3 table and Styne happily waves at me. He points at the man next to him and mouths "Beetee" with a large grin. The woman with them scribbles in a notebook rapidly and without pause.

Finally, we come to the District 12 table, where Haymitch sits with a deathly pallor glaring at anybody that gets too close. Peeta looks bored but still smiles when he spots us. And then there is Rory, and beside him is Gale. Katniss smiles and nods at him but makes straight for Peeta. Gale grimaces but remains silent. I sit beside Rory and try to ignore that he is all that separates me from his brother.

After a moment, Boggs opens a door and a strange assortment of people exit. I readily recognize Plutarch Heavensbee, and the tall, thin woman with him is obviously Capitol, an assistant of some kind based on the way she hovers around him. There are a few men and women that carry themselves in a way that just screams 13 that I know they are natives. Others are obviously District, not as proud as the Capitol folk, or as disciplined as 13.

A woman in a crisp gray suit, somehow more elegant than the rest, takes center stage. Her flawless white hair and lifeless gray eyes give me the creeps.

"Welcome all, I am President Alma Coin." Even her voice is lifeless. She sounds nothing like my father does when he spoke to a crowd. And even Snow can impassion a crowd with his words. Coin makes me want to recoil with a simple greeting. "We are gathered to discuss the rebellion and your place in it. As you are well aware, your special status is of great importance to your fellows in the Panem. We plan to use your image to rally people to our cause."

Just like that. At least she's honest. _No points for style, though._

"If I may, Lady President," Heavensbee intrudes and makes his way to the center. The look she gives him cannot honestly be called a glare, she doesn't really change her face at all, and yet it is such a withering look that I feel like shrinking in on myself. Still, she nods her head and moves about one step to the side.

"You are all here because you're tired of the Capitol. You are tired of suffering and being beaten down. You fought and you killed and you won and still they attack you! Even after they promised you peace. Peace!" Already I can see heads nodding in the crowd. This is the power of a Head Gamemaker. "What peace can there be while the current system exists? What we need is a total overhaul of the government. But Snow won't give up power easily, neither will the Capitol. It will take sacrifice; blood, sweat, and tears, and, yes, lives. You, more than any other, know what it costs to survive. You came here knowing what we wanted of you. . . and if you're here it's because you are willing to give it."

I almost feel like clapping.

The Victors are not so easily convinced. Especially not Katniss, who is the most important Victor of all. Everybody is still concerned for their loved ones, the failure of the Quell only putting them in more danger. Some managed to escape to 13, others have already joined the rebellion, prepared to fight for their lives, but some were captured before they could do either.

"How do we even know it's safe here?" Katniss questions, "How do we know the Capitol won't just bomb 13 all over again?"

"We have defenses against bomb threats," Coin answers smoothly. "I assure you, there is no safer place to be."

Johanna Mason from 7 is the first to volunteer. "I'm not like any of you," she says to the room at large. "There's no one left I love. If there's a chance to take out Snow, I want in."

Her words are cocky but they have a ripple effect. Finnick stands to volunteer next, and Annie stands with him though she doesn't volunteer. He places his body in front of her, as if to shield her from the world.

Enobaria stands and I am glad her back is to me so that I can't see her teeth when she speaks. "Like she said, just kill Snow. Make them all pay."

A few from each table stand, including Anemone and Styne, but no one from 12 does. Haymitch is already part of the rebellion, so I suppose it doesn't really matter, but Katniss. . . Rory and Gale and I aren't important anyway, so we just watch as Katniss and Peeta have a silent conversation with their eyes.

"Not yet," she whispers and Peeta nods dutifully. He grasps her hand under the table and we all try to ignore the disapproving glares directed towards our table until the meeting is adjourned.

Everyone immediately devolves into mindless chatter, reminding me of a school cafeteria even more. Styne practically skips towards us and sits down with a loud thump.

"Great to see you guys again! Glad you didn't die."

"Likewise," I reply and Rory smiles.

"I'm going to be helping Beetee and Wiress with weapons development, not much use for us 3 braincases out in battle."

"You weren't so bad in battle," Gale says approvingly.

"Thanks, but I never want to do that again."

Likewise, I want to say but realize it will be pointless. I'm a soldier now, and not even an important one. I'll probably be sent to the front lines to die for the cause.

"Madge," a voice says beside me and I surprise myself when I jump out of my seat and embrace him.

"Calisto, you're here! Is this why you weren't in 1?"

"Yeah, my mom sent me to represent 1 since our Victors are all fighting already." He clears his throat uncomfortably and I wonder if it's because no one from 12 is fighting.

"Please, sit." I pull him down next to me, though it takes a moment since Gale refuses to scoot down to give him enough space.

"They'll probably use us too, anyway," Anemone says as she sits beside Styne. She looks at me and then Gale, her eye roaming over him for a moment before smiling wickedly. "Is this the one? Okay, I sort of get the whole self-sacrifice thing now."

Gale looks away and Calisto sucks in air through his teeth. He probably wants to remind us all that he's _just a miner._ Except he's not anymore, is he? He's Soldier Gale Hawthorne now.

"What did you mean, use us too?" I ask to relieve the tension.

"We may not be Victors, but we still defied the Capitol," she explains easily. "They can use our faces just as easily. Maybe we won't be the A-team, but you'd better believe they'll want some footage of us fighting. And we won't get the benefit of an artificial battlefield. No, that's for the top tier stars."

I feel a coldness in the pit of my stomach. This is obviously not news to either Calisto or Styne.

Anemone continues undeterred, "The only reason Stitcher's not here is because his mother made it a condition for her involvement. But they're willing to overlook the age restriction for a recognizable face."

She stares pointedly at Rory and my mind goes red when I understand what she's implying.

"Absolutely not!" Gale and I say together, and exchange a look of surprise.

"But I want to help too," Rory complains.

"Rory you've never killed anybody," I argue with a soothing voice. "Please trust me when I say you want to keep it that way."

Gale is not so gentle. "You had a bow and arrow in your hand and you threw a rock when you were attacked! Stupid mistakes like that will get you killed in a battle."

"We haven't even agreed to fight in the rebellion yet."

"There won't even _be_ a rebellion if Katniss doesn't agree to be the Mockingjay."

"Please, Rory, promise me you won't fight. Please."

"I forbid you from fighting!"

Rory's face is crimson red by the time we stop and the entire room is deathly silent. A look around shows that everyone is staring at us, and more than a few have amused smiles on their faces. Suddenly, Haymitch bursts out laughing, and most of the other smiles evolve into laughs as well. I can feel my ears burn.

"Well, Mommy and Daddy Hawthorne," Haymitch declares as he rises to his feet. I bury my face in my hands, unwilling to see everyone's mocking or Gale's disgust. "This is the best entertainment I've gotten since we got to this hole in the ground, but if you excuse me I have to go finish my detox in the infirmary. If I have to spend one more moment with you people, I will start stabbing. Good night!"

Detox. Right. I had forgotten about 13's strict ban on alcoholic substance. They'll have made him quit cold turkey, and must be keeping him in isolation until it's fully out of his system and he's no longer a danger. My mother will join him soon, I'm sure, once the withdrawal hits and she starts attacking ghosts.

Thankfully, attention shifts almost immediately after he leaves and we leave the room shortly after. My allies, my. . . friends. . . sort of. . . all tell me to be strong. They don't offer empty promises, they don't tell me I can escape the fate the rebellion has chose for me. I will still be sent to the front lines, but now I will have a camera on me. Now my parents can watch me die in live color, as if I had never left the arena at all.

Well, at least I won't be cannon fodder.

* * *

Dinner is always an awkward affair in 13. Tables are assigned to each person - usually by family - and there is very little variation. Punishment for breaking the rules is harsh, although I don't know what it is exactly, and I think, I _hope_ , it's nowhere as intense as Thread's punishments.

My little family of three shares a table with the lone Mellark in the world. Across from me, my father feeds my mother little spoonfuls of food. He is so careful, and she so grateful, and they seem. . . so in love. It never occurred to me that my parents were ever in love. Loved each other, sure, but not _in love_ like the Everdeens had been. Not that all-encompassing, debilitating love. As mayor, certain things were expected from my father, including the type of person he would marry. My mother was chosen because she was from a respectable, moderately wealthy family, and physically attractive to boot. It is fortunate that her addiction began once they had years and a child between them and it would ruin his image to divorce her and court another. The Capitol is all about image.

The allotted food is chosen by each person's nutritious needs, so a person like my mother would get a full plate to regain her strength, but a person like me gets what feels like a quarter portion to what I'm used to. Except that after the Quell, I'm only glad that I have a regular source of food and water. I have nothing to do after dinner, so I just sit and wait for the dinner hour to be over.

Beside me, Peeta plays with his food, having nothing better to do as well. Sometimes, he'll leave us to sit with Katniss in the Everdeen-Hawthorne table. Sometimes, Katniss, Prim, and Rory will join us. But today is different and the mood is borderline melancholic.

Katniss was taken to the ruins of 12, a last ditch effort by Plutarch Heavensbee to sway her to the rebellion's side. She was still reluctant to join, her greatest fear being viable options for both sides. The Capitol would kill Prim for revenge first chance they got, they'd be willing to destroy all of 13 for a chance of getting to her. Likewise, 13 could indirectly kill Prim by kicking her out if Katniss reneged on their bargain.

That was an irrational fear; 13 would never throw anyone out. A District 10 man named Dalton, one of the men on Coin's council, approached me once to thank me for avenging the 10 tributes during the Quell. As our stilted conversation continued he explained how 13 was afflicted with a plague a few years back that killed many and left more infertile. Breeding stock, that's what they see us as. We sold ourselves like broodmares for shelter and food. I don't like 13 much.

"Are you worried about Katniss?" I finally ask Peeta as he still refuses to take a single bite.

"No, she's in good company." Every line of his body is drawn with exhaustion.

I do my best to look at him and not over my shoulder at the Everdeen-Hawthorne table, where two figures are missing. To be fair to Katniss, she had tried to take more of us along. She approached me as well as Peeta, but Coin said they couldn't have two high profile targets out in the open so Peeta had to stay, and I. . . I never want to see the destruction of 12 ever again.

"Does it. . . does it bother you that they're so close?" I ask in a whisper. I'm sure my parents at least can hear our conversation, but they have the good grace to act oblivious.

Peeta's eyes are sad but he shakes his head, "No, I can't begrudge Katniss her closest friend. And it's not like I'm worried about her leaping into his arms and passionately kissing him. She's not going to be doing that with _anyone."_

I chuckle half-heartedly and he raises an eyebrow. "Why? Does it bother you?"

"What? No! Why would it bother me?"

He smiles roguishly at me, and at once he seems like the Capitol sweetheart that swayed a nation to his side. "I just thought you seemed very sincere in your interview. I'm something of an expert when it comes to televised declarations of love."

I burst out laughing and then slap my hand over my mouth to stop the noise. A few heads turn my way, but we are ignored for the most part. "Peeta, no!" My hands move to cover my cheeks, which are radiating heat. "It was just. . . I was just. . ."

He laughs at my reaction, "It's okay, Madge, I was just teasing."

We both turn back to our plates and I find myself tracing Katniss' steps in my head against my will. They'd start in the Meadow, probably, so that she would not be too shocked at once. Her feet would take her to the Seam, to her old house, on instinct and she'd linger there, stunned by what she finds. She'd weave her way to town, or as far in as she could go. Maybe pass by the bakery, have a moment of silence for Mr. Mellark. Maybe she'd try to go to my house, the ashes of the mayor's mansion, maybe she'd stand on the spot where I would play piano for her.

The thought pulls me up short. For a long time, music was my only friend. The music's gone now, one more thing that the Capitol took from me. I catch sight of Peeta forcing himself to eat and remind myself I could have lost so much more.

I believe this trip will do the trick. When Katniss comes back, she will have seen what everybody has lost. Lives, relatives, friends, passions. It will be too much, even for her, who had built walls upon walls upon shields to make sure that sympathy could not drag her down to her doom. But what she will see in 12. . . no one could just walk away from that. When she comes back, she will be the Mockingjay.

* * *

 **A/N:** IDK, guys, I feel like Enobaria knew how to play the game, but didn't drink the Kool-Aid. She was not a fan of the Capitol or Snow _at all_ at the Victors' meeting, so I think she'd jump at the chance to fight against him. She'd probably get along with Johanna, tbh.

 **Quick Note:** There was a major upheaval at my work. I mentioned that I had been working 12 hour shifts recently, and NOW I've been moved to the weekend shift. On the plus side, it means I have more time to write. But weekends are going to be hell, so **my updates are going to move from every other Saturday to every other Friday (USA Time),** this will be my last Saturday update. Not a big deal, but just so you know!

As always, tell me what you liked, didn't like, and what you thought could use improvement!

~ Destiny's Sweet Melody


	10. Built For a Blade

**A/N:** Look, I just read this book and I'm _still_ not sure how long this war was. What is math? What is a logical progression of events? I'm gonna do what I want!

 **To Guest:** Thank you for your review, and I'm glad you like protective parent mode. There will be more of it!

 **To TessiePessie:** Rory is still very young, and managed to escape the worst of the Quell thanks to Madge, but there WILL be some trauma for him to deal with when he's suddenly no longer "safe" in 13. There shall be more Mom and Dad Hawthorne, so I'm glad you enjoyed it.

 **To fangirl:** Katniss has new conditions BECAUSE everyone she loves - her family, Peeta, the Hawthornes, and Madge - are with her. She now has much more to lose, but also more of a reason to fight. I don't like Coin either, and I don't think Madge, whose dad was also a "leader" but was still able to show some kindness would be much of a fan.

* * *

 **Unforgettable**

 **Chapter Ten: Built for a Blade**

"It wasn't enough," Katniss tells me during _Reflection_ when she comes back. We are supposed to be in our compartments, but instead she has led me to a series of pipes that run between the walls. She brought back things from 12 from her house, the Victor's Village untouched, including Buttercup. She tells me of the nausea, of the overwhelming sense of helplessness, of the single white rose in her house and the message it sends from the worst person in the world. And still that wasn't enough.

"So, you won't be the Mockingjay?"

She sighs tiredly. "I agreed, but for the worst reason." I wait for her to continue and when she looks me in the eye, she seems to have aged a thousand years. "In seven months Prim will be fourteen. She'll be Soldier Primrose Everdeen, and she'll be shipped off with all the others. She can't survive a war, Madge."

Ice flows through my veins as a completely selfish thought invades my mind as well. Rory will be fourteen in six months and then it won't matter what Gale or I say, it won't even matter what he wants. Would it be possible to win a war in under six months? I don't know, there hasn't been a war since the Dark Days, and the books my father kept talked of wars that lasted years, _decades._

I hug my knees to my chest and force myself to breathe normally. "You want to protect your sister. Love, Katniss, that's the best reason."

She gives me a small, brittle smile. "I'm glad I can talk to you. The Quell was the worst! I kept waiting for you to die and it was just - I'm not even sure. It was just horrible."

I remember the night before the interviews, the conversation I overheard between her and Peeta. I remember how broken she sounded at our impending doom, at the realization that she may have to do this for her own children one day. I know she would not be pleased by my intrusion on that moment, so I joke, "It was pretty bad for me too."

She chuckles lightly, but still seems unbearably burdened. I have the sudden, desperate wish that no matter what happens, I can survive this war. I don't want to hurt Katniss with my death. I want to be there for her to talk to, to escape to when the men in her life suffocate her with their devotion. I don't want to be the reason she curls up and cries inconsolably like she did that night.

She sneaks something golden into my hands, and explains it is called an ear wrap. It is thin and almost fragile, shaped like a curved arrow with what looks like a bird perched over the fletching. She explains that was the token Effie intended for me to wear into the Quell.

"Did you get your pin back?" I ask, reminded that I had not seen it since I woke up in the hovercraft.

"Yeah, it's part of the Mockingjay image, so I have to keep it. I want you to have this one."

"Good," I say. "Now that I know about my aunt, I feel like it's fate that you wear it." I play with the ear wrap for a moment before slipping it over my right ear. I won't be able to wear it for long, dress code in 13 is mandatory, but I like the weight of it.

"Prim says I can use my _celebrity status_ to ask for some things. I think she just wants me to make sure she can keep Buttercup." There is light humor in her voice, but her words turn serious again. "I think I need to get them to promise to let us go after the war."

"Go? Where would we go?" And who is we?

"We should rebuild District 12. Everybody should be able to go back home."

"Isn't 12 obliterated?"

She shakes her head, "It's bad, yeah, but not impossible. I think with a lot of hard work, we could put it back together again. Maybe even expand beyond the fence."

There's something in her eyes that I have never seen before as she explains her idea, and I think it looks a little like hope.

* * *

At dinner, there is a surprise waiting for Katniss.

"Cinna!" The first real smile I have seen in about a year splits her face and she runs into his arms. He is sitting at the Everdeen-Hawthorne table, which is overcrowded now with the addition of the stylist, a grinning Peeta, and a grumpy-looking pale woman with a gray wrap around her obviously bald head that seems familiar.

It's not until she speaks, her thick Capitol accent adding to her haughty tone, that I recognize her. "We've been held hostage here by these savages for weeks!"

"You are not a hostage, Effie, you were rescued."

Effie begins to argue that she didn't want to be rescued, but she is drowned out by my exclamation. "Oh my gosh, Effie!"

She seems as surprised as anybody else when I place my tray of food down so I can hug her. Eventually, she pats my back with a, "Nice to see you too, Madge dear."

"Hello, little spark," Cinna greets me when I let go. I don't try to hug him, which probably seems a bit rude, considering I seem to be in a hugging mood these days, but I can't get past the fact that he was using me as a sacrifice for the rebellion. He is a rebel - it feels like it should be more of a surprise than it is.

I nod my head at him instead, "I'm glad you managed to escape."

That's true, at least.

He nods, understanding that I will probably never be his biggest fan, and turns back to Katniss with a large portfolio full of brand new designs. I hear him say, "I wanted them to let you come to the decision on your own before I approached you with these," as I walk over to my parents. I have no place amongst the top tier stars of the rebellion and I can't in good conscience leave my parents alone.

I keep waiting for my mother to fall into one of her fits, or perhaps a lethargic state, but she seems fine. I consider for a moment that my father is somehow supplying her with morphling but decide it would be impossible. There is no sneaking anything in 13, especially not medicine.

I am halfway through my meal when two bodies sit beside me and I find myself between Rory and Gale. Rory smiles and raises his spoon as if to say 'cheers' before digging into his food. That's normal, we share meals all the time.

The strange thing is Gale. Not only that he is here, something that he never does even when Katniss sits with us, but that he has not put his brother between us. Rory has been a buffer between us, one that I am just as grateful for. It is easier to speak to him when his little brother is there, the constant reminder of the one thing that connects us irrevocably.

He sees me staring and just shrugs, "I was getting tired of all the Capitol talk. Don't really have much to say on the subject."

I nod, feeling similarly on the subject. Gale's a bit more important than I am in the rebellion. He isn't a Victor, but he was introduced as the Mockingjay's close family since the beginning. Add to that Katniss' insistence that he be on her team - "I can't do this without him," she told me of her list of conditions with an almost apologetic look on her face - and suddenly he was A-team material.

"I can't believe so many Capitol folk would turn against Snow," he says apropos of nothing. This is another surprise - he's trying to keep a conversation going between us.

"They're not all bad," I say in recognition of his effort. "When I was in the Capitol it felt like they were all just very. . . _removed._ To them, the Hunger Games is just an actual game. I don't think it occurs to them that anybody actually suffers from it."

He grimaces, and I know he does not like my opinion, but he just sighs. "So you're saying our lives have been so screwed because we're ruled by a bunch of infants."

I giggle, unable to help it. Was that an actual joke? "Yes, I suppose that's the truth of the matter." A smile tugs at his lips, I'm certain of it, and I try to ignore the little flutter in my stomach because of it. "Some of them are actually good people."

"Like Cinna?"

I look over at the stylist, who seems to be the only person wanting Katniss to use her own will. "Yes, like Cinna, and even Effie has her moments."

He gives me a look that tells me he will never agree with my assessment. "What about Plutarch?"

My smile drops from my face. I don't like the Head Gamemaker, and not just because he was also planning on using my death to fan the flames of his rebellion. I don't understand his motivations. He had everything in the Capitol, his prestige second only to President Snow, and he gave it all up for what? Truth and justice? No, I don't believe that.

"I'm not sure yet."

He nods in agreement with a thoughtful look. The large watch-like thing on his arm starts beeping, and he explains that it is called a communicuff when I ask, that it sends him messages from control whenever they need his assistance or are calling a meeting. Right now, it's sending him to Weapons Development. The place the 'District 3 braincases' are kept.

"Actually, it says you will be called too," he says when I try to say goodbye. "Might as well go together."

Katniss and Peeta join us as we find our way to Boggs who takes us lower than I thought District 13 could possibly go. Beetee's workshop is not what I expect. It looks like a meadow, but has the cool air of an artificial environment. Beetee sits, overseeing everything as my allies, Finnick O'dair, and Johanna Mason all wave around a variety of weapons. Styne and who I assume is Wiress are standing on the sides, picking apart and tweaking mechanical devices whose purposes escape me.

Katniss and Gale are given specialized bows, while Peeta is given a war hammer, of all things. I can't imagine kind Peeta crushing people to death, but I know he certainly has the muscle for it. Beetee calls Johanna and Finnick forward and I hear Boggs begin explaining something about a Star Squad before Calisto distracts me, calling me to stand with him and Anemone.

Styne finally notices me and skips over with a manic smile. He grips my arm tightly and drags me to a table. "I made something for you to use," he explains happily. "Well, you'll be given a rifle to use in battle, but they want something with a little _style_ , you know?"

I nod even though I do not know, I don't know anything at all.

I notice that amongst the wires and bolts strewn about the table, there is only one weapon, a sword in its sheath. I look over to my friends before I can help myself. "Shouldn't I get a bow as well?"

It seems to be the District 12 thing to do.

Styne smiles apologetically, "I thought this would be better." I bristle and he is quick to add, "You're good with a bow, you are! But, I looked over the Quarter Quell footage and your hand always instinctively goes for a blade. I thought this would suit you best."

He hands the sword over to me with a flourish and I am surprised by how light and slim it is. The hilt is curved and ornate, gleaming steel and cool to the touch. When I pull it out, it's not even half the width of any other sword that I've ever seen. Is this a joke?

Styne must see my confusion because he explains, "It's a rapier, you have some muscle but a slight build so a smaller sword would be better. It's made for stabbing, but it can hack and slash if the situation calls for it. And there's something else, I designed it myself! Well, I may have copied a bit off of Beetee, but I'm his apprentice so I should learn, right?"

"What is it?" I interrupt his rambling.

"Say hello."

A beat, "To the sword?"

"Yes, right at the hilt."

I raise the rapier so that it is parallel to my body, the hilt right at my face. Feeling a fool, and somewhat convinced it is a prank, I whisper, "Hello." Suddenly, the sword comes to life in my hands, it vibrates and becomes so heavy I almost drop it. I grasp it with both hands, despite the hilt not being made for a two-handed grip. "What just happened?"

"It's nano-machines!" He explains happily, "When they're dormant, they keep the blade light enough for you to carry along with a rifle and pack. When they're active, they vibrate fast enough that the blade can cut through a rifle, and the weight will help add a little extra 'oomph' to your attacks."

"And they're voice activated?"

"Only your voice though. Just say 'hello' to activate and 'good night' to deactivate."

I quickly say 'good night,' the weight already causing sweat to break out on my brow. Styne apparently has a very high opinion of my strength.

"You'll be trained privately with the rapier," he adds. "For as long as possible, but I doubt it will be long. Your team will be sent out right after the first propos is aired and I hear they're heading out in a few days. Just as soon as they find a safe place to send the Mockingjay."

This is news to me, and again I turn to my friends before I can help it. I wonder if this is the last time I'll see them. _No_ , I can't think like that. I have to believe we'll all come out of this okay. I try to ignore the voice in my head that tells me that's impossible.

* * *

Training with the rapier is intense, but I'm surprised by how quickly I pick it up. I learn to be proficient with it faster than I ever could with the bow. I guess Styne was right about that, my body was built for a blade. A fortunate happenstance is that since I now have to build enough muscle to wield the rapier gracefully, my diet is changed to include more carbs.

Training with the rifle is a noisy affair, but I'm good at it. It's not the same as using a bow, but I at least have the aiming part down pat. I can hit seven out of ten moving targets now.

It is during one of these endless hours of training that I am told that the Star Squad has left to District 8 and the time has come for me to prepare to leave. I am being sent to active duty. _I'm not ready._ These days training didn't feel any different than the Training Center before the Games, it is in no way a replacement for actual martial training.

 _I can't do this._

Nobody actually cares. I am led to a hangar - _is there no end to 13?_ \- filled with hundreds of hovercrafts. I am wearing the dark gray military suit of 13, not that different from the regular jumpsuit, except that this one has the name UNDERSEE written in large block letters. My team awaits me. My team being Calisto, Anemone, two soldiers that have that 13 air about them, and a woman with short-cropped black hair that introduces herself as Sergeant Whitaker and. . . a camera crew?

A woman with magenta corkscrew curls, chocolaty brown skin and slitted, amber eyes smiles as she salutes us, and introduces herself as Juno. "These are Cassius and Justus," she waves at the two men wearing some sort of armor that we are told are cameras. "Our team is a bit smaller than the Star Squad's. Cressida and Messalla will be doing the editing anyway!"

It doesn't seem to matter if we understand a word of what she's saying, we are shuffled onto the hovercraft and it launches without delay.

"Um, Sergeant Whitaker. . . ma'am?" I ask uncertainly. She nods at me to continue. "Where are we going?"

She raises one perfectly trimmed brow. "You weren't informed?"

The two 13 soldiers nod decisively but Anemone and Calisto are just as confused as I am. I can tell by the u that forms between her brows that she is surprised we weren't told, but she is 13 through and through and she quickly dismisses the issue, sure that Coin had her reasons and her reasons must be right.

"We are being sent to aid the rebels and assure the capture of the grain supply," she tells us tersely. "We're going to District 11."

* * *

District 11 is larger than District 12 by far. It is also only a few steps up in terms of destruction. We manage to land without trouble, but the minute everyone's feet are on the ground, the hovercraft leaves us behind without a sound. In seconds, a small child, younger even than Stitcher, pops out from behind a bombed out building and leads us through the orchards to a city of tents.

A man, tall and strong of build but with only one hand, greets us with a grimace. I realize in an instant what the problem is. Here they are, sleeping in the dirt and starving. And here we are, with our shiny, new jumpsuits, and our Capitol crew, and the _cameras._

"Chaff," he finally says.

"Sergeant Whitaker," she salutes him.

He seems to relax a bit at this show of deference. "Seeder's at the big tent, coming up with the big plans, I'll show you to her."

Seeder is an intense woman with olive skin, and her eyes narrow in on the camera the second we step into the tent. "You're relieved," she tells the people that were already in the tent and they leave immediately. I can tell by the look on their faces and the slump in their shoulders that they are tired and without hope. I doubt our presence will do much to change that.

"What are you people doing in my camp?" She demands icily, "I thought I was rid of the cameras."

Suddenly, I realize why they hate the camera crew so much. They're Victors, they've been in the Games, they've already seen televised deaths far too often.

"I am Sergeant Whitaker, we were sent by 13 to assist you -"

" _This_ is what 13 sends? Is this a joke?" She stops the sergeant in her explanation. "Six soldiers and cameras. Are you sure you're not Capitol trash? Spies for Snow?"

Whitaker seems taken aback by her words. Whether because she thought we would receive a hero's welcome or because she's not used to such passionate words, I'm not sure.

I understand, though. The Quell too recent, the memory too fresh. I don't want people to see me as that monster ever again, but I will become that monster if that's what it takes to get back to my parents. And I _hate_ 13\. There! I said it! 12 was flawed, it was miserable, even for the merchant class, but we had freedom of self. Katniss could go into the woods most of her life, I could pick up a useless hobby like music, Peeta could paint. There's no room for any of that in 13, there is only a schedule and _purpose._

And then there's Plutarch. I can't trust him, and I can't trust anybody that puts him in charge of a military endeavor.

"I don't like them either," I say, and everyone turns to look at me. Whitaker looks mutinous, but Seeder looks interested in what I have to say, so I continue. "You must be disappointed. You must have thought that 13, this place from a fairy tale, was going to swoop in and solve all your problems. I thought so too, but. . . it's not at all like that."

"Soldier Undersee, I insist you -"

"No, let her finish." Seeder once again interrupts the sergeant.

I wasn't sure what I was going to say, having spoken on impulse, but now I know. "You don't _need_ a foreign army to come in and win your war for you." And in the end, 13 is a foreign power. It hasn't been part of Panem for the past seventy-five years, leaving us to be sacrificed like pigs while they 'rebuilt.' Perhaps it's unfair to expect them to fight when they managed to escape almost unscathed, but from my perspective that makes them an 'other.'

"You've been fighting this war yourselves, and you've been fighting it for seventy-five years. You're going to win this war because you've been strong enough to survive for seventy-five years. We may not be what you expected, but we came here because we believe you're strong enough to win, and I promise you, we _will_ win together."

Actually, we came here because we were forced into a hovercraft practically against our will, but that's much less inspiring. Seeder keeps steady eye contact with me for one second, two, three, and then she blinks.

"As you say."

There's a moment where I feel a heaviness in the air. Not oppressive, but powerful. I feel like I did something very right for once. And then Juno ruins it.

"And cut! That was awesome-sauce!"

Seeder and I both roll our eyes and then share a smile at our reaction. _Capitol types._

* * *

Training with the rapier became strangely soothing to me. It was the order and the peculiar feeling of power, I suppose, which only grew each time it became easier to follow my teacher's instructions. I doubt I'll ever be able to actually use it in battle, but still I go through my nightly practice in the outskirts of the 11 camp after Seeder explained her plan to us. It was risky and foolhardy and so very Hunger Games that I couldn't help but smile.

That doesn't mean I think we'll actually succeed. Especially since Whitaker volunteered our squad for the most crucial aspect of the plan. I suppose she felt like she had to prove that 13 really was here to help, despite what Seeder and I felt.

"You're her, aren't you?" A small voice asks in the darkness.

I turn to see a girl of about ten, leading a troop of around seven kids of varying ages, a few steps away from me.

I think I know what she's talking about, but I'm still not comfortable being so easily recognizable. I thought I was used to it, everyone in 12 knew the mayor's daughter, but they were all perfectly happy to pretend I didn't exist. Here, though, eyes follow me wherever I go. I was able to mostly ignore it. I _did_ stick out like a sore thumb here, with my golden hair and still too pale skin - not even being sunburned in the arena could give me a healthy tan.

But it's obvious this girl isn't asking if I am the pale girl walking around the camp. "I'm Madge," I skirt around the issue.

The girl doesn't, "You're the one that shattered the arena."

I smile awkwardly, "I wouldn't say I shattered the arena, it was more of a chain reaction."

They don't listen to my explanation. The minute I confirm their suspicions, their eyes light up and they crowd me. I hurriedly tell the rapier good night to make sure I don't accidentally cut anyone and sheath the sword. They're all speaking over each other, asking questions about the Quell, about my score, even about Gale, and they're so excited that they don't even care that I am unable to answer them.

Only the eldest girl, the one that approached me first, keeps her composure and after a few minutes of excited chatter she gets them under control. She takes me by the hand and leads me to a certain section of the camp that I quickly realize is filled with non-combatants. Those too young or old to fight, pregnant women and new mothers, people with missing limbs that had obviously lost them in some long ago atrocity, not in battle.

She leads me to a tent with an aged woman and a tall and muscular younger one. Something in the shape of her face and nose makes me think that she is the spitting image of the matron by her side when she was younger. She is also strangely familiar. I feel like I've seen them both before, but that's impossible.

They welcome me warmly and offer me a watery vegetable soup and a cup of water which I gratefully accept. I have no right to criticize the taste; after weeks in 13 with their strict diets and what I'm sure is artificial meat, it tastes delightful.

"You look uncomfortable in that get up," the girl, Lily, tells me.

I look down at my jumpsuit and frown, "It's not the best, but it's mandatory."

"Mandatory?" The grandmother, Hadley, scoffs. "Who are they to take your will?"

 _The people keeping my family and me alive._ It doesn't seem like an even trade, though, so I only nod and snort in an unladylike manner. I like these women, I like these people. Knowing what I know about 11 from Katniss, to be able to keep their own will after everything was awe inspiring.

It's not until Hadley mutters, "It's like the Mockingjay said, my boy was admirable because he refused to play by nobody's rules but his own and that's what made him great," that I realize where I have seen them before.

The Victory Tour. Thresh! This is Thresh's family, his grandmother and sister. Now I can see the resemblance, and it is so uncanny that I feel ashamed it took me so long to realize it. I feel embarrassed to admit I had no idea who they were, so I only agree that he was a great young man. It's not a terrible lie, he _was_ admirable. Strong and loyal and honorable. Katniss would not have won if he didn't care so much.

Lily suddenly stands, declares that she's going to get me 'all trussed up for battle,' and leads me to another tent. There is a pregnant woman around my height and she happily donates a set of tight black pants and a dark green top, the straps criss-crossing over my shoulders with a print that look like overlapping leaves, that no longer fit her. It is such a colorful, cheerful outfit, but most of the 11 soldiers are wearing similar things, and I realize that it does a better job of blending into the orchards and the fields than a dark gray jumpsuit.

Lily twists my hair into a pair of tight twin braids, which tames my curls better than any other hairstyle I have ever known. The average 11 hair, though as dark as the typical Seam hair, is not as straight, instead being wildly curly just like mine. They do a better job at combing and tying it than anybody short of the prep team in the Capitol. I decide to slip the ear wrap I've been carrying in my pocket every day over my right ear. When they are done giving me a makeover, I feel like I don't stick out like a sore thumb anymore.

The same girl passes by all the tents, announcing that the rebellion is sending a message via the TV network. There is only one TV in the entire camp, and Seeder's big tent is surrounded by a sea of eager faces as they wait for a sign from the Mockingjay.

At first there is only the same Capitol message, condemning the rebellion and promising retribution to those that partake in it. Then there's a glitch, a short burst of static, and then there they are: the Star Squad. There is battle, and death, and fire, and it all seems to be very dire until Katniss takes up the screen and declares "If we burn, you burn with us!"

The mood in the crowd has been quickly charging up with each scene of Capitol destruction and when the propos ends, there is only wild, deafening cheering.

* * *

 **A/N:** I like fencing. And by that I mean, I tried it once in an after school thing and never again because I'm poor and that is a rich people sport, but I think it's cool. Rapiers are _heavy_ though, guys, don't let its size fool you. I actually wanted to give Madge a Needle-like sword (Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire) but I couldn't find _one single historical instance_ of such a sword outside of that fandom, so unless Styne happened to read ASoIaF it couldn't happen, so a rapier it was. I still sort of imagine Madge being taught a **water dancer type of technique** , though, so make of that what you will.

Look, there's lots of things I could complain about regarding the _Mockingjay_ movie, but **Effie Trinket** replacing the prep team is not one of them! I adore Elizabeth Banks in that role. **And Cinna. . .** well, that was just a fluke. Since he doesn't have the same connection to Madge that he did with Katniss, and he didn't make the Mockingjay dress, there was no point to beat and imprison him during the Quell, so he could have high-tailed it out of there immediately after the Quell started in this universe. So now he's here! Is he going to make it to the end? Who knows!

I know that in **movie canon** District 11 residents are dressed in antebellum style clothes, but I felt that was bit **too on the nose** , and wouldn't lend itself to battle anyway. I think it would be colorful, reflective of their environment, and a natural progression of their culture - all they know is orchards and fields! _Why_ would they have antebellum south couture?

Next chapter is **an actual battle!** And by that I mean, an actual, gritty, crawl in the mud, WW2 type of battle. Poor Madge is on the front lines, she can't swoop in for the rescue, she's not the hero.

As always, tell me what you liked, didn't like, and what you thought could use improvement!

~ Destiny's Sweet Melody


	11. The F Squad

**A/N:** I'm not sure what the limits of Capitol war tech are. In the book it seems mostly missiles and aircraft, and in the movie it seems almost like a war of attrition, like both sides just. . . shoot at each other a lot. My genius addition is tanks.

 **To fangirl:** Madge _is_ a bit fatalistic right now - partly because of what she knows of war, and partly due to the fact that she _just_ got out of the arena (remember, in story it's been like a week or two) - but she will find that spark quickly. She's not just going to be an unwilling pawn forever.

 **To Guest:** I LOVE that you like my OC! I hadn't meant to make him such a big character, but it's starting to come out that way, so there WILL be more Calisto in this story. Though Gadge is still endgame lol.

 **Warnings:** Depictions of war-related violence, minor character death, blood, slight PTSD

* * *

 **Unforgettable**

 **Chapter Eleven: The F Squad**

Whitaker glares when she sees me show up before dawn dressed like an 11 soldier. She can't really argue the issue, however, seeing as Anemone is wearing a skin-tight suit, all black with shells, and a brown net, tastefully aged, wrapped around her shoulders and draped to halfway to her elbows like a cape. Calisto is wearing some sort of mesh armor with a matching helmet. Juno practically gushes when she sees us, so we are given a free pass.

Seeder goes over the plans one final time, and I feel my stomach twist in anticipation when she leads us to the small squadron of thirteen soldiers that we will be joining in battle come morning. No use trying for the dark of night, since the Peacekeepers have night vision goggles.

Juno forces us to pose with our new, larger squad for pictures. I try to smile as I remember the pictures that would appear in the sky each night in the arena. After a few dozen group pictures, and twice as many individual pictures, she calls each of the 13 soldiers for an interview. We are asked pointless questions, like why we chose to fight in the rebellion, what we hope will happen, and what is our inspiration for fighting.

I am asked that question three times and I get the feeling she wants me to mention Gale. I absolutely refuse, instead practically spitting, "Basic survival instinct." This isn't the Quarter Quell, there is no reason for me to be that lovesick girl anymore. If I am fighting now, it is because I do not want to die and I know I will not survive under Capitol rule.

Of course I want to see Gale again. The same way I want to see my parents again. And Rory, and Katniss, and Peeta, and Haymitch, and the Everdeens, and the Hawthornes. Even Effie and Cinna. But at this moment I can't think of any of them. I have to think of the rifle in my hands and the hundreds of enemies between me and my goal.

I'm being sent to disarm the automatic cannons surrounding the Justice Building, the central control of the Peacekeepers.

 _I'm literally being sent to the mouth of the wolf._

I couldn't be in more danger if I just strolled right up to them. Which is essentially what we're doing, just that we will attempt to be slightly more sneaky. One wrong move and I could be blown to bits. That's if I don't get shot first.

 _I can't do this._

I try to pull some courage to the surface, like I did for the Games, but I can't. All I feel is an intense feeling of dread. It's worse than the arena even. Then, I knew exactly how many enemies I had, I even knew who they were, and I had a purpose. Now, all I know is that there are 'possibly several thousand' Peacekeepers, and my purpose is the ever nebulous 'stay alive.'

"Sergeant Grouch is so messed up," Anemone says into a lull in preparations. "Why do _we_ have to do this? We're not even the A Squad, we're the B Squad."

"More like the F Squad," I mutter mutinously and she actually smiles. There's a bit of spite and anger in that smile, but it's more amiability than she's ever shown me.

I see Cassius and Justus hanging around us and feel conflicted. I may not like their role here, but it seems foolhardy to send them to battle unarmed. "They're not going with us, are they?"

Anemone shrugs uncaringly, but Calisto shakes his head. "They'll be capturing footage in the distance, and then they'll swoop in for close ups after we take the Justice Building."

" _If_ we take the Justice Building," I say. Even I'm surprised by my pessimism, I'm usually more positive. Or at least morbidly humorous.

Calisto bumps my shoulder and frowns, "What happened to that speech from yesterday?"

I frown back, but know that he's right. I shrug and pout petulantly.

"These people, they're looking at us right now, at you. Even if it's hopeless, you have to pretend you're confident."

I think of him in the arena, the way he tried to act cool and unaffected with his sister there. Even if he knew about the plan, he must have known that there was a chance one or both of them could die. But still he acted the part of the cocky Career to perfection. I can do that, I suppose, if that's what these people need from me.

A whistle goes out and we are quickly put into formation. Dawn is breaking and we will attack them when they are still weary from sleep. It will be up to us, the thirteen 11 soldiers and the F Squad, to take out their first defense so that the main rebel army can advance and storm the building.

My last thought as we leave the camp is that I hope the F in F Squad doesn't stand for Failure.

* * *

The silence is almost anticlimactic. The air is tense, and the silence doesn't allow me a moment to breathe, but for just one moment longer I am safe. Sergeant Whitaker has taken the lead, and we follow her with steps as silent as they can be when we carry rifles, and grenades, and 'stylish' weapons for the propos. My rapier is light but still makes a muffled thud every time it hits my thigh. In the silence, it is damning.

There is an almost perfect tree line just up ahead and Whitaker slows us to a stop. There are no words exchanged, we are too close to the enemy for any unnecessary noise, but she uses her hands to remind us where we are meant to set up.

I head for a small thicket of trees and bushes, Calisto on one side and one of the 13 soldiers on the other. For a moment, I am regretful that I never bothered to learn his name. We set up our rifles and wait for the signal. The automatic cannons are not unguarded. Not even the Capitol is so arrogant that they would leave their first and greatest defense alone. There are a series of trenches surrounding the five cannons, and I can see the very tops of shiny, white helmets as the Peacekeepers make their rounds.

The sun's rays have pierced the early morning fog when the signal finally comes. My heart is pounding in my ears, and my hands shake - _my aim will be off!_ \- when in response to the strange whistling bird call, a Peacekeeper rises his head just above the trench line. His helmet is off and he's just _so young_ , and then his head snaps back. All I can see is the District 2 boy when the mace cracked his chest open, and then I see the wave of Peacekeepers.

I pull the trigger almost mindlessly, some animal instinct overriding my morals, and I'm almost pleased when I see three of them go down because of me. We need to get over to the nearest trench in order to take out the cannon, so it is imperative that we charge at the same time as this preliminary force does, it will be the only moment the cannons do not aim at us, for fear of killing their own. No matter how counterintuitive running into gunfire is.

I wouldn't have moved from my spot if Calisto hadn't gripped the back of my shirt and lifted me with him. "Let's go, now!"

I fire as I run, having no choice but to follow as our hiding places are exposed. From the corner of my eye I can see movement and I know the others have followed orders. They are not as cowardly as I am.

I nearly trip over my feet when I reach the edge of the trench and jump in without hesitation. There is a Peacekeeper just a few steps from me, his gun pointed at my head, and then Calisto's sword slices his neck open. _Idiot,_ I chide myself, _watch what you're doing!_

My entire body is vibrating, but I force myself to move forward. Now I have to be brave, I owe Calisto my life and I can't let him down because of my fear. _Be brave like Katniss._

A twist in the trench and then there are two Peacekeepers. I shoot them down before they can fully react. _Be fierce like Gale._

We reach the little control room built into the ground. Five Peacekeepers are dead before we fully enter the room. A sixth rips his helmet off, corkscrew curls drenched with sweat, and he holds up his hands in surrender. "Please!" he cries. _Be. . . gentle like Peeta?_

Calisto and I - and even the 13 soldier with us - hesitate. Does this make him a prisoner of war? Is 11 taking any? Is 13? The answer doesn't matter. He suddenly tenses and a wheezing sound escapes his mouth before he slumps to the ground.

Anemone pulls her two-pronged spear - the blades larger than the one she had in the arena - out of the soldier's back. "No quarter," she says to what must be a shocked look on my face.

The 11 soldiers don't miss a beat and begin setting the dynamite at the base of the cannon. I had wondered why they didn't just take control of it to shoot the other cannons, and was told the others would automatically destroy the one they tried to use. Even if they took out one, they would just lose soldiers and their position. The only way was to completely annihilate them.

"Set!" an 11 boy declares. "Let's move!"

To the next trench? Luckily, they are built so that the ends are close together, even if they aren't connecting. Probably to avoid giving enemies easy access to all the cannons at once. The explosion that shakes the ground gives us enough cover to jump over and cross to the next trench.

I feel slightly more confident as we run as best we can in a crouch.

"Grenade!" somebody shouts, and I feel Calisto push me to the ground, his body covering mine, before a muffled thud goes off just behind me.

"Are they dead?" I ask, but he ignores me. Only lifts himself to his feet and pulls me to mine.

Before we even reach the next room, one of the 13 soldiers pulls out his own grenade and throws it at the enemy soldiers on guard. As if on prior agreement, we all charge, rifles firing, not even giving them a chance to breathe. This time, there are no Peacekeepers to ask for mercy, no need to wonder what it makes me if I want to give it to them. . . or if I don't.

In the third trench, we meet up with Whitaker. "Good job! After this, we move to the rear!"

I try not to freak out too much at her words. The five cannons were spread out around the Justice Building. Three in the front, a frontal attack always presumed more likely, and two in the back, just to make sure they are protected. Even if we take out the first three and the rebels charge, a frontal attack would come to nothing. The Peacekeepers still have superior weaponry and years of formal training. The rebels would be pushed back or completely decimated.

No, the plan hinges on a two-sided pincer assault, Seeder leading the frontal attack and Chaff swooping in from behind. While the rebels attack from the forward face of the building, we are to make our move to the back and clear the way for Chaff's forces. The only problem is that there are several hundred feet of open field between the third and fourth cannons. We'll be completely unguarded, easy pickings for an expert marksman.

 _Focus on the now,_ I order myself. We still need to take out this cannon. There's no need to worry about the open field, I might die in this trench yet.

My rapier is a comforting weight on my thigh, even if I don't have the courage to pull it from its sheath. I follow the sergeant as she leads us, only thirteen in total now, to the final control room.

"We're running low on dynamite!" an 11 woman declares, as she hands over the sticks, "We lost a bag when Reaper went down."

"Make it count then!" Whitaker says easily. I almost don't recognize her. The emotionless robot I met just a day ago has been replaced with an energetic woman with a loose tongue and fire in her eyes.

We move to the end of the trench and wait for the cover of the explosion to make our move. Open field. Easy target. I rub my finger against my ear wrap, almost wishing I was back in the arena. But, no, that's not what I want. I don't even want to be back in Compartment 317. I want to be back in 12, in my house playing the piano. Or maybe just outside 12, out in the forest. Not training, just sitting and enjoying the quiet like that day with Gale.

"Stay low, keep your heads down! Speed is tantamount!" Whitaker instructs us just as the blast shakes the ground. "Go! Go! Go!"

My body is on autopilot. That's the only reason I can think of as to why I follow orders so readily. I'm on my stomach, using my arms to propel myself forward before I even realize what I'm doing. How low should I keep my head? Just high enough to see? Do I even need to see? It's more or less a straight shot from here. . . isn't it?

A voice shouts to my right and I turn to see the 13 soldier there. My eyes are wide and I can't hear anything but gunfire and my own heartbeat. He must have asked me something, but I have no idea what it is. I shake my head and he seems to understand.

He lifts his head a little more so I can see his lips. "Can you see-"

A _fwump_ and then he slumps to the ground, his head lolling listlessly, the shiny red hole in it glistening in the sun. I don't scream, not even when I realize that the warm, sticky feeling on my face is his blood. Instead I lower my head even further until it is scraping against the ground. I don't even care about checking to see if I'm going the right way.

How long do I crawl? It feels like an hour, but it can't be, the battle would be over in favor of the Capitol if it took us an hour to take out the rear cannons.

The bullets hit closer now and I finally take the chance to see that I am nearing the trench. I stop crawling and position my rifle. Breathe, concentrate, take a moment. I pull the trigger and the Peacekeeper right in front of me goes down. I don't smile, but it's a near thing.

The line right in front of me goes down, my allies taking them down, and I take the opportunity to run over and drop into the trench. This time I am ready for whoever is waiting for me, but no one is. There are only bodies. Ten other rebels jump down next to me and then, a second later, Anemone rolls herself into the trench, falling into a heap with a scream of pain. She doesn't get up.

I run to her, even though I'm not a medic or her friend. It feels like we're still in an alliance, and even though we don't like each other, we have promised to keep each other alive for as long as possible.

"My hip!" she cries out when Whitaker asks her where she was hit. I can see her hands pressing against the wound, blood is practically gushing out unimpeded, helped by the frantic beating of her heart.

"We can't help you here," Whitaker tells her. "Do you think you can make it to that copse over there? Chaff's forces should be waiting."

Anemone grimaces but eventually nods. "Soldier Undersee, help me lift her!"

We each grab one of her arms, and as the others provide cover fire, we heft her over the trench. I can only watch for one second, one instant, to see her begin crawling over to the trees. Then I have to duck for cover or risk having my head blown off. Eleven of us left now. It's honestly more than I thought would make it to the fourth cannon. I didn't even think _I_ would make it to the fourth cannon.

"Who has dynamite?" Whitaker asks.

"I do!" One of the 11 soldiers, just around my age, raises his hand as if we were in a classroom.

The sergeant nods, "Stick close to me!"

We move as a unit to the control room. I shoot. I breathe. I don't do much in comparison. I see the last 13 soldier throwing grenades. I see Calisto pull out his sword to fight in close quarters. I see the boy with the dynamite run into the control room. And I see the cloud of dirt and smoke suddenly burst from the subterranean structure.

Somehow, in the shuffle, I am the one closest to the room, and I run in to see the problem. Bodies are strewn across the room, Peacekeepers and the 11 boy. His bag is nonexistent. I think a Peacekeeper must have shot at him, maybe he turned to run back out, and the energy-based bullet hit the bag, detonating the dynamite. Everybody's dead. There is no more dynamite. And the cannon is untouched.

"Shit," Calisto mutters when he enters next.

"What do we do?"

He looks over to the cannon and I can see that his first thought is the one I had last night. Why not use the cannon to take the other out? He shakes his head sharply. "I don't think anybody knows how to use that, and if we mess up they'll target the room and blow us to bits."

"They might have seen the cloud," I argue. "They might target the room and blow us to bits anyway."

He looks thoughtful for a moment. "They would have done so already."

That's true. It feels like everything happens too quickly or too slow.

"We don't have dynamite, so we can't blow them up," he reiterates. "The only option is to take control of them both, hold them for the rebels."

"We don't have enough soldiers for that," I feel like all I'm doing is being negative, but he hasn't told me to be quiet yet so I continue. "Leave four here, and then what? Five to take the entire trench? It's unlikely that would work."

We had made it this far by targeting the control rooms from both directions. We changed that pattern now, and look what happened!

Whitaker enters next and she takes one look before sighing tiredly. "This presents a problem."

 _Understatement._ We tell her the options we had come up with and she agrees that they are unlikely to succeed. "But we need to do something. Every moment that we hesitate, the rebellion loses more of its forces."

I had allowed myself to relax for a moment, hidden from gunfire in the control room, but her words reawaken my anxiety. I feel like I need to personally do something. "What about the grenades?"

"They'd never penetrate the shielding," Whitaker tells me.

But I only have to think for a second. "What if we threw them into the mouth of the cannon?"

For a second, her eyes twinkle dangerously, but then she frowns. "You'd leave yourself exposed, and the cannon might blow your hand off it detects you."

"But would it work?"

She stares solemnly at me, "If you approached the cannon from beneath it, it might not detect you."

"I'll do it!" Calisto immediately volunteers.

"No! It was my idea! I'll do it."

"I never approved of this plan," Whitaker argues, but she hasn't shot it down completely either.

"It's the only plan we have with a halfway decent chance of working. If it doesn't, you lose _one_ soldier. For every moment we hesitate, the rebellion loses dozens."

She flinches at having her words thrown back at her. She nods, releasing a heavy breath through her nostrils. There is a little color in her cheeks that tells me that if I survive this, I will be getting a talk regarding insubordination.

"Soldier Undersee, your slight build will aid you best in this endeavor. Stay low, be quick. Soldier LaFont and I will provide you with cover fire from the east, the others will take the west."

I nod and take off my pack and lay my rifle down. After a moment's hesitation, I decide to leave the rapier. It gives me courage and I will need every bit of courage I can find. I am given four grenades to carry, although I will only need one to see if it will work or not.

I lift myself up to the ground and belly crawl towards the cannon. It twitches in my direction and I freeze, unsure if playing dead will help or kill me faster. Bullets spray over me in both directions. The cannon twitches forward again. I don't bother heaving a sigh of relief, I am nowhere near safe.

I scurry a bit faster and feel a thrill run through me when my hand makes contact with the base of the cannon. Now all I have to do is climb eight feet into the air as the enemy shoots at me. I take a breath and pull myself to my feet, pressing my body against the cannon. Almost immediately, I cry out as I feel something graze me. A bullet? Shrapnel? Doesn't matter, I'm not bleeding yet.

I climb, and I climb, and I climb. I'm over the cannon, a clearer target has never existed, and yet my teammates have somehow drawn attention from me.

I push myself right to the top of the mouth and then pull the pin from one of the grenades. I throw it in and then let myself fall. I land awkwardly on my ankle, and I feel a pull, just before my attention is pulled to my shoulder as I am hit by a bullet. I drop to the ground for cover and then the cannon implodes.

"Madge!" I can hear Calisto yell for me, and there is enough honest desperation in his voice that I force myself out of the ball I had instinctively curled into and force myself to move.

Two sets of arms pull me down back into the trench once I'm near enough.

"It's just my shoulder!" I yell as I feel hands fluttering around me. Why am I shouting?

The words around me are muffled, but I figure Whitaker will want me on my feet, so I get up. There's a slight twinge in my ankle, but it's not broken or twisted so I'm glad for it. Somebody is wrapping a torn and dirtied piece of cloth around my shoulder and I wince as it presses down on my wound.

My hearing is just coming back, I can hear Whitaker preparing us to take the next trench, to preserve our grenades, when a group of bodies drops down into the trench and surrounds us. Six rifles shoot up, mine most definitely _not_ included, but the closest figure only laughs. Loud and happy, almost thrilled.

"You seemed like you could use some help."

 _Chaff._ I recognize him, now that my ears have stopped ringing and my stomach isn't spinning quite so much. He holds a large gun in his one good hand, and his face is split in a grin that is vicious and joyous all at once. _Is this what a Victor is?_

Before any of us can even react to his blasé attitude, he is shouting at his troops to join him as he jumps over the trench and _runs_ head on to the final cannon. The rebels do not hesitate. They follow their commander as if they were born to it, without fear or precaution. I wince as I see one of them be hit by a cannon and fall in seven different directions.

 _Don't throw up,_ I command myself. The least I can do is be strong enough to watch.

Wonder fills me as I see their mad dash bear fruit. Chaff himself is the one that takes out the cannon, dropping his rifle and chucking a grenade into the mouth of the cannon just as it reloaded. The rebels storm the trench and I can hear gunfire fill the air before it quickly cuts off. One side has been completely decimated. Dark-skinned figures dressed in greens and oranges and reds hop out of the trench and head towards the Justice Building.

The mission has been completed and the ground shakes as the tanks roll out of the tree line.

I can't breathe in relief at the fact that I survived my first mission. The 11 rebels are awe-inspiring. I understand suddenly how they have held on for so long with inferior weaponry - even those tanks are three generations old! People like Chaff and Seeder and the soldiers beside me are incredible. They seem invincible. They make you _want_ to fight, to lay down your life by their side.

Even though my job is over, after taking out the cannons we were meant to retreat, my body is still strung tight. My very bones vibrate with anticipation as something in my core ignites for the first time ever. Not even the arena could awaken it. Maybe because back then I was planning to die. Now, I want to _fight!_

"Soldier Undersee!" Whitaker shouts at the same time Calisto shouts, "Madge!"

I am halfway across the field before I realize I am running, the pulling in my ankle a distant ache. With no cannons and the soldiers within all preoccupied with the main rebel force out front, I make it into the building unimpeded.

My chest heaves, short of breath, as I suddenly freeze. Bodies litter the ground, mostly Peacekeepers, and the hallway I am in is devoid of life. I make my way towards gunfire before I freeze again, remembering all at once that I never picked up my rifle since the moment I snuck up on the cannon. All I have are three grenades and the rapier. With nothing else to do, I pull it out of its sheath and whisper, "Hello."

The weight is familiar, and though I am tired, I am capable of keeping the one-handed grip my instructor taught me. I carefully make my way down the hallway, and I'm caught by surprise by a lone Peacekeeper, ostensibly sneaking around just like I am. My rapier is faster than her rifle and she only whimpers when I stab her between her ribs.

Her big gray eyes remind me of Rory's and my skin crawls in revulsion when I pull my rapier out with a horrible squelching sound. Whatever bravado led me to this room disappears completely as her body crumples to the ground. But I know that I can't simply stay here, so I force myself to move and somehow blindly stumble onto Chaff's body.

It's a massacre. The room is bloody in a way I've never seen, not even in a Cornucopia bloodbath. At least half the rebels that charged in with Chaff are lying lifeless in this room, just as many Peacekeepers are dead beside them. Chaff is near the center, his body almost unrecognizable due to the amount of bullets in his torso and face. It is only his missing hand that allows me to identify him.

It seems wrong, somehow, for him to die so unceremoniously. He had been laughing, joking, so full of life just minutes ago. _Is this what becomes of Victors?_ Is this what will happen to Katniss and Peeta and the rest of the Star Squad? Is this what will happen to Gale?

I want to do something. Say some words, place a blanket over his body, _something!_ But I don't know him well enough to say anything, I don't have the right, and suddenly a sound like trumpets blare followed by a deafening roaring.

Seeder did it! We have won the battle.

Not even that is enough to stir my spirits, and I stumble my way back from whence I came, searching for the remnants of the F Squad and the court martial I'm sure Whitaker is dying to give me. As the wild cheering becomes clearer, I am certain of one thing: I never want to see another battle ever again.

Too bad the war is just beginning.

* * *

 **A/N:** If the action seems a bit familiar, it's because I borrowed it from the first battle in _Band of Brothers_. So, just saying **I don't own that either.**

I had a bit of trouble balancing the action scenes with the introspective nature of this fic. Let me know if you enjoyed my attempt at it! It's really weird trying to write somebody that's essentially a combat vet, but also an inexperienced soldier. Madge has killed _a lot_ of people at this point, but it's the first time she's doing it for herself. And, of course, **killing should never be easy** even if there are times that it is necessary. The times when she seemed almost happy about it, wasn't so much to imply that she is being desensitized, but rather **an attempt to balance** the natural joy somebody would feel at survival with the inherent horror of becoming a murderer. She has no idea what to feel, and **by the end of it, she's numb**.

This is a bit shorter than last chapter, and it was actually supposed to include the scene immediately following this one, but it felt right to just end this here.

So, just let me know what you liked, didn't like, and thought could use improvement!

~ Destiny's Sweet Melody


	12. You Make Me A Believer

**A/N:** Some actual, factual Gadge, y'all!

 **To fangirl:** I'm also weak when it comes to war stories. I think _every_ death should be tragic (even if it's not a tearjerker), because soldiers usually have no choice in what they're doing. The A-team, is doing propos, and you can assume their very first mission was similar to the one in the book/movie, just with more Victors involved.

* * *

 **Unforgettable**

 **Chapter Twelve: You Make Me a Believer**

There is a party. The noises of music and cheering startle me from my slumber in the infirmary tent. It sounds more joyful, more rapturous, than any celebration I have ever heard back in 12. It almost sounds like I'm back in the Capitol, the citizenry cheering as I am herded to my death. The older woman that bandaged my ankle and patched up the bullet wound smiles at me and laments that I can't join in on the dancing.

"I'm not much for dancing," I tell her with a small smile. I don't feel like I have much of a right to partake in their festivities. What did I do, other than survive the very last day? Oh, and disobey orders, can't forget that! I hope 13 doesn't execute you for things of that nature, though I can't be sure.

 _Remember, they need you as breeding material,_ I try to comfort myself, but it doesn't really work as I remember I don't want to breed with any of them.

The people of 11 have been fighting since Rue died, have been suffering far more than 12 did for seventy-five years. They deserve bonfires and music and rapturous dancing and all the things that follow a great military victory. The war's not over, and tomorrow they will remember, but tonight. . . tonight they are free!

The tent flap opens and Seeder steps through. Her face is solemn, but there is a light within her that belies her joy. I wonder if she knows about Chaff. Of course, she must, she's in charge of 11 and the only Victor left standing. Someone must have told her. Probably Whitaker, or Juno trying to get an exclusive.

She nods at the nurse, who takes that as her cue to leave and then takes a seat beside my cot.

"Glad to see you're still alive," she smiles with a much friendlier tone than before.

"Likewise," I respond honestly. Seeder had refused to be anywhere but the frontlines. Even as Whitaker argued that the commander should stay behind in case anything went wrong, she insisted that her place was with her people. If anything went wrong, then we would all be dead anyways. I had worried she would have been amongst the first to die.

"You were right, we brought our own victory," Seeder tells me and I feel myself blush at the compliment.

"Of course you did, you're strong."

"Not just us," she takes my hand and squeezes it. "We couldn't have done it without 13."

I think of the soldier whose head burst open beside me, the warm, sticky feeling of his blood on my face and force myself to not vomit all over the commander. I think of Anemone bleeding out, who I haven't seen yet, and try not to worry. The 11 campsite is large and there are more than a few infirmaries.

"You okay, sugar? You look pale."

I force myself to swallow and smile at her. "Just tired, I guess."

She stares at me for a moment, and I remember she's a Victor. She has her own set of memories of blood, and I'm sure she knows exactly what I'm thinking of. But she doesn't say anything, only nods understandingly. "You rest, you'll be leaving in the morning."

I try not to be surprised, but I am. I would have thought that with two soldiers injured, we would get a few days of respite. But of course not, Coin wants results not happy and healthy soldiers.

Seeder leaves and I am plunged into darkness, the sounds of distant cheering keeping me company until I fall asleep.

* * *

By sunup, my ankle has swelled to three times its usual size, but still Whitaker forces us onto the hovercraft that has magically reappeared now that the danger has passed. Calisto makes a valiant effort to help me limp to my seat, as he managed to escape any real injuries, but I'm sure his body is sore. Anemone lies on a stretcher, awake and silently fuming. The other 13 soldier dutifully takes his seat next to the sergeant. . . we only lost one, then.

Juno and her crew are the only ones that seem happy, the magenta-haired woman practically skipping to her seat and babbling about all the "great footage" of both the battle and victory celebration they managed to get and how somebody named Cressida is sure to be impressed by her.

She babbles most of the way to 13, and it's almost enough to distract me from the pain in my ankle and my shoulder.

Almost.

The hovercraft has barely landed when medics burst into the room and pick up Anemone's stretcher and march her away. I don't even have time to be surprised before two others grab me by the arms and force me onto a wheelchair. They set off at a brisk pace, ignoring my inquiries of what the heck was going on, and before I know it I am being examined by an impersonal flock of medics.

Back in District 12, it was only mandatory to go to the doctor a few times. At birth, so that your blood work and finger/footprints can be included into the national system. Before you start school, so that you can get immunizations. And, if you're female, at the first signs of pregnancy, so that they can make sure their future laborers are coming along nicely. If you weren't particularly wealthy, those were the _only_ times you went to the doctor, no matter how ill or badly injured you were.

Despite the bureaucratic nature of our health system, the District doctor was not a cruel man. He wasn't Capitol, not really. He had been trained in the Capitol once he came of age, but he had been chosen from District 12. Merchant, obviously, the Capitol never cared much for the Seam, but he hadn't been arrogant or patriotic or any of the things Seam kids like Gale think merchants are like. He was a few years older than my father, but he was aged - tired and weary - in a way that made his occasional kindness seem grandfatherly.

Here in 13, I feel like a specimen under a magnifying glass. The medics talk over me, conferring with their myriad nurses and assistants about me as if I were not even there. If I dare to ask a question they act as if I have not even spoken. They poke and prod and spray and place some weird, cold blue goo on my bullet wound.

A scream escapes me when they force a green cloth cast around my ankle and then tighten it so much that it resembles its original size. Tears prick my eyes, but I bite my lower lip to stop myself from cursing them. No need to give them the satisfaction of knowing they hurt me. Not that they seem to find satisfaction in anything.

Well, that's not true. Whitaker seemed to come alive in battle. Maybe it's just a matter of finding something that inspires the people of District 13. Everybody has their passions, even when they live a carefully planned life. I should know, after all.

For the first time, I feel like I should empathize with 13. They didn't ask to have a somewhat better life than the rest of us. It's not their fault they have more food and healthcare and clothes.

It's not their fault it came with a catch.

I remember the cameras installed around my house, the way they carefully kept track of everyone that came in and out of the house - through the front and back doors, not the side door, thankfully - and how it was not something my father installed for our safety. In fact, we never saw that footage at all. Somebody in the Capitol was watching it all to make sure the Undersees were still with the program; still communing with the right kind of people.

For the first time, I feel a little like Gale. Bitter and angry that my loved ones and I have suffered so much while District 13 goes through their routine, pretending they have it as bad as the rest. And I know that's not fair. I know they don't deserve my ire.

Still, I'm not sweet like Rory, or kind like Prim, or charismatic like Peeta, so I stay quiet until a woman I assume is the head doctor declares my condition stable and they all leave as one unit. Just as they came in.

Empathy or no, that's still creepy.

* * *

"Madge?"

Prim's voice gently wakes me from slumber, I hadn't even realized I had fallen asleep. My shoulder is numb and my leg feels stiff, but there's some relief in not feeling anything at all after all that pain. I see her peeking in to the quiet room, blue eyes wide and curious.

"Prim?"

A nervous smile appears on her face as she opens the door fully and steps in. She quietly shuts it and I wonder if she's allowed to be here. I suppose only family would be allowed to visit, if previous rules and regulations were any sort of indication. For a second, I wonder why my parents aren't here but try not to focus on it.

"Are you okay?" She takes a seat beside my bed.

I do my best to smile, "Yeah, it looks worse than it feels." Well, _now_ at least. Just before I fell asleep, it felt like the worst thing in the world.

She brushes her hand curiously over my green cast, "They say this should help you walk even while you're still healing. It's not Capitol tech, but it's amazing!"

I remember that Prim often helped her mother as an apothecary and smile genuinely at her obvious excitement. "The doctors told you?"

She smiles shyly, "Yeah, I've actually been assigned to the medical corps. Like an apprenticeship."

"That's amazing, Prim!"

One point for the District 13 system! Prim would never have been able to learn medicine like this back in 12. I wonder if she'll be able to take this knowledge back to 12 if and when Katniss' wish of a return happens.

She shakes her head suddenly, as if snapping to attention. "Well, there's something you should know. . ."

I hate her carefulness. In the breath she takes to brace herself I think of a million possibilities. Coin went behind our backs and sent Rory to battle and he didn't come back. My father _had_ been somehow supplying my mother with morphling and now he's been caught and punished. Haymitch's detox went south and he did something crazy, hurting himself or people around him. The Star Squad was attacked and they're hurt or worse.

And yet. . .

"Your mother. . . when she found out you were sent to battle, she had a relapse." She grips my hand suddenly, and I realize I am trembling. "She's fine, she's here in the infirmary, but it will be a while before she can go home."

I hadn't even considered my mother. She had been doing so well, she was so inoffensive, that I hadn't even given her any thought. I thought she had magically gotten better, but of course she hadn't! She'd been addicted to morphling for half my life, relief hadn't cured her, it had only held her system's crash at bay.

Father had tried to get her to quit before, and the longer she held out, the worst the crash was.

She must be going insane.

"Can I see her?"

Prim grimaces, "Not right now. She's being kept in quarantine."

Quarantine! She's sick, not a rabid animal!

My good will towards 13 quickly dissipates. How can they treat their people this way? They want to force us to stay to breed and work for them, but they can't show the tiniest bit of mercy? Not even to show my mother that I'm alive?

"I'll go get the others to see you," she says suddenly, as if sensing my dark thoughts.

"The others?"

"Mom and Katniss and your dad have been trying to see you since they heard the hovercraft landed," she informs me. "Haymitch and Peeta have been waiting almost just as long. And, of course, Katniss and I had to stop Rory and Gale from just breaking in!"

"Gale?" I ask before I can stop myself. She said it almost as a joke, he probably wasn't _really_ that worried, but some traitorous part of my brain was thrilled.

Prim smiles impishly and nods, "I'll go get them."

She practically runs out of the room, a skip in her step, and I laugh despite myself. Katniss had worked hard her entire life to make sure Prim didn't suffer as much as the rest of the Seam. She worked so hard to make sure Prim had nice clothes, and new hair ribbons, and enough to eat, that a stranger might confuse her with a merchant. But, despite that, Prim was never so carefree as she is here. Prim's smart; she knew how bad things were, no matter how much her sister tried to hide it from her, and her heart was so big that it bled for everyone. Here, she seemed to think everyone was safe and happy and warm, and so she felt the same way.

Score another point for the District 13 system.

* * *

Gale is surprisingly fond of nicknames. Katniss is Catnip and Rory is Runt, even if only when he's relaxed and doesn't even seem to notice what he's calling them. There is enough relief-fueled laughter in my room, that he seems to be as close to carefree as he can get. Peeta is Baker Boy, Bread Boy, or Cheese Buns, each with a greater degree of sarcasm, depending on how much the comment the Mellark makes rankles him. When Prim announces to the room at large that she is training to be a doctor - news to everyone but the Everdeens and myself - he pinches her cheek in congratulations and calls her Little Duck.

It's a surprisingly endearing trait.

When they're all leaving, visiting hours over, he reaches over to pat my shoulder and says, "Get better, Princess," as if he does it all the time.

I'm so flustered I can't even reply!

It's all I can think of at night, tossing and turning and trying to figure out his meaning. Was it supposed to be an insult? A mean little nickname he had given the mayor's privileged daughter long ago, like he insulted Peeta's bakery origins. Even if we were getting along better now, it may have just slipped out, no harm meant.

Or was it meant to be an endearment? When I was little, before the morphling, my mother used to call me her little princess, amongst many other nicknames, like my darling and sweetie. Princess was a good thing, right?

I'm not just overthinking this, right?

. . . Of course I am.

 _It's just a nickname._ Everybody gives their friends nicknames. I, for one, call Katniss. . . Katniss. Well, sometimes I call her my first love, but never out loud. But, just because I don't use nicknames doesn't mean that it's not normal.

I know Katniss thinks of Peeta as The Boy With the Bread, and Little Duck was originally _her_ endearment for her sister.

 _It doesn't mean anything!_ I tell myself and force myself to sleep.

In the morning, I start physical therapy once again. They tell me nothing's broken, I just have to wait for the swelling to go down, and like Prim told me, the cast will help me walk as it heals. It will just take a moment for me to get used to it. My leg is stiff, the knee refusing to bend, my walk reduced to an awkward waddle.

As the physical therapist helps me regain my mobility, Anemone is brought in on a wheelchair. She takes one look at me and launches into a tirade against District 13 as if I were her only ally in the world.

"I have metal in my _hip!_ " she screeches. "I lost an eye and now hipbone, before this rebellion is over I'll be half-metal!"

The medics, dutiful as usual, ignore her comments and only help her use her legs even as she spits vitriol about them and everything they stand for. I can't help but giggle at her.

"What happened to you, anyway?" she asks as if just realizing I was there as a patient as well.

"I fell off a cannon."

She blinks, bored, "That's stupid."

I giggle again, "Yes, it was."

Pleased with having shown the bare minimum concern in anybody other than herself, she goes right back to complaining about the rebellion at large and how much it had cost her. "That's what I get for trying to be nice to a mad girl."

It's the second time I hear her mentioning a mad girl, and I wonder what she means. Everybody knows why I was reaped for the Quell, and I know Stitcher and the LaFonts are children of Victors, but I don't know anything about Anemone.

"Who was it?" I ask. "Why were you in the Quell?"

She sneers, "Annie Cresta." I remember the beautiful woman wrapped around Finnick O'dair, and how much she hated Stitcher calling her Annie in the arena. "She's seven years older than me. She won the 70th Hunger Games because she got lucky; it flooded and she was the best swimmer. But she wasn't anything special. Beautiful, but weak. She lost it when her district partner got killed and spent most of her time hiding and starving."

Her words are flippant and even cruel, but there's something in her eyes that is almost gentle, and as she speaks her posture relaxes, the tension bleeding out. "When she got back, people treated her like the District's shame. She's not _that_ bad; just zones out and says stupid things a lot. I just felt bad for her. I didn't really want to be her friend! She's just. . . easy to love."

I realize this is an important moment. It took a lot for her to say those words, it might be the first time she's ever admitted it out loud!

"That's sweet."

"Oh, shut up!"

* * *

Three days after having the cast put on, my physical therapist sends me to basic training. It's not my usual training time, so my instructor isn't there. But the Star Squad is. Peeta is trouncing Finnick O'dair at wrestling. Katniss is training with Johanna Mason with staffs; neither of them is trained with them, but they are fighting with a ferocity that is frightening. Gale is over at target practice, and I am surprised to see that Calisto is with him.

I slowly make my way to the blades station and find a rapier to train with, going through the repetitive steps that I was taught, the ones I use to calm my nerves. It works, and before I know it, I am lost in the motions.

I have already worked up a sweat when I hear, "I can train with you, if you want."

I spin in surprise, ignoring the slight tug in my ankle, and see Gale standing there with a rapier in his hands. He's holding it all wrong.

"Have you been trained in swordfighting?"

He shrugs nonchalantly, "No, but I suppose I can figure it out. Sharp end goes in the other guy, right?"

I chuckle, "More or less, although preferably not during training."

He actually smiles at me and I try to ignore the weird fluttering in my stomach. I take up a ready position, "Ready?"

He does his best to mimic me, "Ready."

My muscles tense up and the air feels charged. Something about this moment feels important, and suddenly I realize that it is. It's important to _me._ I want to impress him, I want him to be impressed _by_ me. I want him to approve of my skills. I want him to admire me.

My plans are quickly dashed when another voice cuts through, "Are you insane? Can't you see she's hurt?"

I can't help but glare at Calisto. His practice rifle is still in his hands, which gives me the impression that he noticed what was happening and ran right over. I am reminded of how he screamed when he saw me be shot in battle and cool my anger. Calisto actually cares about what happens to me, the way I care about Rory, the Games forging a bond that was complex but unbreakable.

"It's not that bad," I tell him, doing my best to wriggle my foot in the cast. "And I was cleared for basic training."

"Basic training, not swordfighting with a giant!"

I am startled to realize, now that they are standing next to each other, that Gale is actually two or three inches taller than Calisto. Hardly a giant to him, but I am dwarfed by both of them. Honestly, the only person in this entire room my size is Katniss, who is so small and skinny that she can reach the very top of the trees without worrying about snapping the branches!

Suddenly, I am angry again. "I can handle myself! I've survived just as much as you have!" My size doesn't make me any less than either of them! Maybe they could beat me at brute strength, but I'm fast enough and good enough with a sword to hold my own against Calisto, and I dare say I can beat Gale.

Calisto looks contrite, but Gale smirks.

"More, even! She's the one that blew up a cannon, after all." My surprise must show on my face because he shrugs and says, "It was in the propos of the 11 victory."

"Th-there's propos about us? About _me?"_ I am not sure if I should be embarrassed or horrified. I thought the last Panem would ever see of me was the Quell. Sure, we had Juno and her crew, but given the interviews and such, I thought it would be a news report or data for the future, when someone decides to write the history of the rebellion. Nothing we did seemed anything like the Star Squad's propos. Certainly nothing like Johanna Mason throwing an axe straight through a Peacekeeper's helmet, or Katniss and Gale shooting down a hovercraft with arrows. They weren't even at the battle! Except. . . somehow, they managed to record parts of it. At least my foolhardy plan made it on air.

"You haven't seen them?" Gale asks and I shake my head. There a television set in my hospital room, but it's hardly ever on. I spend my time in physical therapy, or conversing with Prim and Mrs. Everdeen when they're on shift, or with my father when he's not watching over my mother.

"I like them better than ours; more real." Gale says, looking away. "Like we'll win because we've been surviving all this time." I blush as I recognize the words I told Seeder and realize everybody heard my speech, though I doubt they allowed my spiteful words towards 13 through. Gale still isn't looking at me, but somehow it still feels like he's being honest. Gale's never been one to offer empty words of comfort, especially not to me. "It's enough to make me believe in something. You make me a believer, Madge Undersee."

Oh, my poor heart.

* * *

 **A/N:** I'm having so much fun "filling in the blanks" in Panem world-building! I am so confused about 13 tech, especially the medicine. Prim, an _apprentice_ apothecary, could keep up with them. They weren't as obsessed with aesthetics as the Capitol, but they still seem _way_ far behind. Which makes sense because _money_ , but they've had nothing to do for seventy-five years but invent! They should have _some_ cool tech!

Please tell me what you liked, didn't like, and what you thought could use improvement!

~ Destiny's Sweet Melody


	13. I See Fire

**A/N:** Surprise Monday update! I missed last Friday because the last two weeks have been hell at my job because hurricane season is really here now, and it's a Big Deal where I live, especially after last year. But, I'm not even going to lie, I pushed my schedule even further back because I went to watch _The Incredible 2_ on Friday. Not even sorry.

 **To fangirl:** I feel like you can read my mind, because all of that is exactly what I had planned lol!

 **Thank you to everybody** who reviewed and/or added this story to their alerts or favorites!

 **Warnings:** mild mentions of PTSD.

* * *

 **Unforgettable**

 **Chapter Thirteen: I See Fire**

The Star Squad leaves to make another propos, this time in District 11, filled with shots of Katniss singing to the children, embracing Rue and Thresh's families, Peeta baking beside the locals, Gale bringing in game in the evening.

Life goes on. I am still stuck in the hospital, but my physical therapy goes well. I am finally allowed to visit my mother, though it makes little difference. She is lying in her bed, eyes glassy and unseeing as if she has overdosed on morphling, but there is nothing for her to be high on. There's not a single IV hooked into her flesh, the 13 regimen of quitting cold turkey was one they held strong to. I understand why my father never spoke of her during his visits; there's nothing to speak of, my mother is not there.

Prim and her mother check in on me from time to time, to chat and bring me news.

Rory is there whenever he can, slipping in between classes and during _Reflection._ He laughs when I wonder aloud if _anybody_ actually stays in their compartment during _Reflection._ Sometimes he brings Posy with him, and she is as adorable as I remember, humming nonsense songs and asking to braid my hair. Vick occasionally comes with them, and I can't help but be surprised by how different they are.

Where Rory is sweet and gentle, Vick is impish and boisterous. He makes risqué jokes, and more than once he talks to me in a way that could be considered flirting were he not ten years old.

Hazelle comes with her children once, and asks me to forgive her for not seeking me out sooner.

"I can't even invite you to tea at my house," she huffs and I am pleased that I am not the only one that dislikes our newfound 'freedom.' "District 12 was terrible, no doubt about it, but I could be proud that I could always invite guests for tea."

"It's not a big deal," I assure her.

"Humility doesn't suit anyone, darling," she informs me. She takes my face between her hands and I can see tears in her quicksilver eyes. "I can never repay you for all that you did for my boy. He's alive because of you."

"The rebellion saved him, us, both of us. I didn't do much."

She rolls her eyes and pinches my cheek. "What did I _just_ say about humility? He wouldn't have made it to the third day without you. He wouldn't have made it off the platform without you."

I want to argue with her. Rory isn't weak or cowardly. He would have chanced a swim to the Cornucopia even if he didn't know our belts were flotation devices. He would have set up snares to keep himself safe and fed. He survived the traps just as well as I did.

But I know that's not what she believes. She looks at Rory and sees the baby she once held in her arms. She believes he needs someone to take care of him and, most importantly, she believes I did so earnestly. Not a plot to keep myself alive. Not a trick to use him as a shield.

She believes in me.

Tears prick my eyes and I can't quite keep my smile from shaking, "How could I not try to save him?"

Hazelle hugs me tightly and she holds me for a long time. It feels like a motherly sort of hug, it feels like a childhood a lifetime away, a memory of a house filled with laughter and love and hope for the future. Tears stream down my cheeks, even though I'm not quite sure why.

"You are far too sweet, Madge Undersee."

* * *

The day my cast comes off is full of surprises. Rory strolls in accompanied by a skipping Posy. Two steps behind them is Gale. The physician's assistant removing my cast glares at them, but Gale crosses his arms across his chest, the comunicuff prominent, and he lets them stay.

I don't know what to make of his presence. I hadn't even know the Star Squad was back in 13.

"How are you, Undersee?" Gale asks, and it surprises me that he's not letting Rory take the lead in communicating with me.

"Better," I say. "Ready to get this cast off."

"I bet."

Silence falls in the room, but it's not entirely awkward. It reminds me a little bit of school lunches with Katniss. Companionable silences had always been preferable to us both than mindless chatter. I blush as I remember that was the only qualification I needed for a life partner.

The assistant finally slips the cast off. "Your ankle is healed, but you still need to be careful. Try not to run or put too much pressure for a day or two as your body recalibrates to moving without the cast."

I nod dutifully, "Thank you for your help."

"It's my job," he says without inflection. I can tell he doesn't mean to be insulting, he honestly thinks that he doesn't deserve thanks just because he was assigned to the medical corps at some point in his life. Sometimes, I really hate the 13 system, the way it tries to turn humans into machines.

I wouldn't be surprised if the words "you're welcome" didn't exist in their vernacular.

"Thank you for doing your job well then," I insist.

He actually smiles, "As you say."

Prim rushes in as he walks out the door and I hear him snort, but he continues on his way. I smile at how much humanity can be reintroduced with a few kind words.

I hear Prim ask, "Did I miss anything?" and Rory answer, "You missed everything!" But I can't focus on them because Gale is suddenly in front of me, offering me his hand to help me off the bed.

"You remember what I told you about being so good?"

It feels like a lifetime ago, that hovercraft ride from District 1, but yes, I do. Some shameful part of me remembers everything he's ever said to me. Even the mean things.

"Common courtesy is not being 'too good'," I sass him, but accept his proffered hand.

"It is here," he tells me, and I try to breathe regularly when I realize he's not letting go of my hand. "They only do exactly as is expected of them, because it is expected of them. They don't expect praise or thanks, not even when they die."

There's something haunted in his eyes that makes my heart clench. I think I can recognize the look. I wonder what 13 soldier he watched die. My hand squeezes his instinctually, I don't stop to wonder if I am crossing some sort of line.

"Then it's up to us to teach them better."

Gale's hand shifts beneath mine, and I think he's going to pull away. Instead, he twines his fingers with mine and squeezes back just as hard. He doesn't say anything, and I am beginning to wonder just how long we have been standing like that when Rory clears his throat.

I look at the others, suddenly aware we are not alone. Rory has a very Vick-like impish smirk on his face, an eyebrow raised. Prim's eyes are blown wide, she's obviously holding back a smile, and practically vibrating in place.

Posy is the only one brave enough to say what they're obviously thinking. "Ooh, you're holding hands just like a mommy and daddy!"

Our hands are separated so quickly that I can't be sure who ripped their hand away first.

Rory pinches Posy's cheek and hisses, "You ruined the moment."

I reach for my burning cheeks, the cold tips of my fingers sending a jolt through my system.

"I'll go get your paperwork," Prim says suddenly. "You can wait for me at the entrance. Gale, you should help her, make sure she doesn't put too much strain on her ankle."

I want to protest, knowing that she's trying to play matchmaker to the most hopeless match in history, but Gale is already speaking.

"That's what I came for."

Prim smiles victoriously, "Good."

She turns on her heel and leaves the room. I am speechless, but Gale seems unbothered by everything that's happened.

He places a hand on my shoulder, "Let's get out of here already."

"Yeah," no need to tell me twice.

* * *

Gale, Rory, Posy, and I are sitting at a bench just across from the hospital wing when the first blast hits. The entirety of District 13 shifts and the lights flicker. Gale reaches for his siblings and pulls them to him. At some point, my hand reached for him, nails digging into his arm as I tremble.

"What was that?" I ask tremulously.

"Earthquake?" he offers, but I can tell he doesn't believe it.

Then the second blast hits.

Posy screams and I am suddenly yanked to the side as Gale includes me in the protective circle of his arms. I can't even be shy about it, I'm so scared. I wrap my arms around him as best I can and try not to cry like I want to. It feels like I'm back in the arena, I remember how the ground trembled as the wave came to devour me in the tenth hour wedge and -

And I wasn't the only one there.

"Rory?" My voice comes out in a panicked shriek. "Rory, are you okay?"

I feel more than see him nod mutely. _No, no he's not._ He'll never admit it, but he must be terrified. He must be feeling exactly as I do, and worse because now I can't protect him. I don't even know what I'm supposed to be protecting him from.

The lights go out, smaller, auxiliary lights on the wall flicking on to stop us from plunging into total darkness. A mechanical voice begins blaring out of invisible speakers.

"An attack on 13 has been detected. Please follow the lights to the bomb shelters. An attack on 13 has been detected."

The Capitol? It must be. Why would they suddenly attack after all this time? Because of Katniss? Were they really so afraid of her that they decided to risk nuclear Armageddon?

"You heard them, let's go."

Gale rises to his feet and forces the rest of us to stand with him. He lifts Posy into his arms and she buries her face into his shoulder. She's so small and fragile my heart aches at the sight. Right, I have to be brave. If I felt Rory was too young for the arena, Posy is way too young for war. I have to help Gale keep them calm, not be another dead weight for him to carry.

I squeeze Rory's shoulders, "We're going to be fine. We've survived worse, right?"

He tries to smile at me, but it seems almost crazed. I pull him into a hug and rub his back soothingly as he squeezes my waist almost painfully.

I look towards Gale, "My mom's still in the hospital."

"They won't leave their patients to die. I'm sure they have a way to get them all safe."

I force myself to believe his words. We can't stay here any longer, we've lingered too long.

We have taken two steps when another blast forces us to stop to avoid faceplanting. Rory gasps suddenly.

"Prim! Where's Prim?"

I look back to the hospital entrance. She had promised to bring my paperwork. She wouldn't just leave without telling us.

"She must be evacuating with the other medics," Gale argues.

"No," I say. "She knows we were out here, she'd come to check on us first."

"She must have slipped out!" Rory concludes. "What if she got lost in the crowd? Which way would she go?"

"The cat!" Gale snarls suddenly. "She went back for the stupid cat!"

Buttercup? He must have been in their new compartment. Their new compartment on the _first_ level.

"Oh no," I gasp. "She could be killed."

Gale huffs angrily, "Madge take Posy and Rory to the shelters, I'll go get Prim."

All three of us scream "No!" at the same time.

"Rory, you take Posy, I'll help Gale."

"No way! I want to help save Prim, she's my best friend!"

"Rory, please!" I say at the same time Gale demands, "Do as I say!"

"We're wasting time," Rory says, already turning in the other direction. "I'm going and you can't stop me."

He takes off running and Gale and I don't even hesitate to chase after him.

"That idiot, can't even think of his little sister," I hear Gale gripe.

I don't respond, knowing he must be angry I didn't obey him either. At the very least, I could have taken Posy to safety and alleviated his worry a little. Although the death grip she has on his neck tells me she probably wouldn't have gone with me anyway.

When we reach the first level, Prim is running towards us with Buttercup in her arms. Rory is nearly to her when another blast hits. I fall to my knees, the ground feeling as if it has shifted under me, and the hallway is filled with so much dust I can't see two inches in front of me. Posy is screaming bloody murder and I can hear Gale trying to calm her down.

That's all I hear.

My heart stutters to a stop. "Rory! Prim!"

No answer.

Ice flows through my veins, and a scream wants to escape me. I hold it back until I can transform the senseless wailing into actual words. "Rory! Prim! Where are you?"

There is still no answer. I stumble to my feet, and walk in the direction I last saw them, my hands outstretched in front of me. The gray-brown fog still strong.

"Rory! Prim! Can you hear me? You have to talk, or I won't be able to find you!"

I refuse to believe they're dead. They can't be! I am incapable of accepting that as an option. They could be hurt, or so scared they can't speak, but they're not dead. _They're not dead!_

Another blast hits, and this time I can feel the backlash, a hurricane force wind filling the hallway and stirring the dust into a flurry. I am forced to close my eyes and kneel until it passes.

I scream when arms wrap around me, but I quickly realize it is Gale.

"You have to stay close!" He screams in my ear but I can barely hear him. "Rory! Prim! You need to give us a sign! We need to go!"

I wonder if he'd really be willing to leave his brother and Katniss' little sister, but then I feel Posy shift and I remember he has more than one sibling. He has to take care of them all. If all signs point to Rory being dead, then he has to focus on keeping Posy alive. I can't blame him for his pragmatism, but panic grips me just the same.

Then I hear something fall over.

"Here!" A tremulous voice calls out, just as a large blob stumbles towards us. The dust is still strong, but the wind has cleared it enough that I can see shadows. It still takes me a moment to realize it is Prim and Rory leaning on each other. I can't tell if they're hurt or just scared.

"We need to go now!" Gale announces just as the mechanical voice informs us the shelters will close in five minutes and anybody outside will be stuck outside.

We run. We run faster than I believed to be humanly possible. We run much, much faster than is recommended for me. Luck is on our side, and we are only two levels away from the shelters when my ankle finally gives out.

I grit my teeth and blindly reach out for the banister to keep myself from falling the rest of the way. The others look back at me, eyes wide in worry.

"My ankle," I tell them. "Just go, I'll be right behind you."

We have less than a minute, I already know I won't make it, but I can't take them all down with me.

I see in Gale's eyes the moment he realizes I am planning to sacrifice myself. He rips Posy off his neck, ignoring her shrieks, and forces her into Rory's arms. "Go now," he orders, and there is so much steely determination in his voice that Rory and Prim obey without question. He kneels in the step in front of me. "Get on."

"Gale, please -"

"Get on or we'll both die."

Is he really so stubborn that he would stay here with me just because I didn't obey? I don't want to find out. I slip onto his back, wrapping my arms around his neck. He places his hands under my thighs and then takes off running, taking the steps two at a time. I close my eyes, afraid we will fall, but that only makes it worse. When I open my eyes again, we are almost at the bottom, we have almost caught up to Rory, Prim, and Posy, and the doors are almost closed.

"Wait!" I hear Prim cry.

"Prim!" I hear Katniss answer.

Gale puts on a sudden burst of speed and we stumble in just behind them.

"Close the door now!" I hear someone order, anger clear in their voice, and a quick look around reveals the reason why easily.

Peeta and Finnick O'dair are holding the door open as Johanna Mason keeps a District 13 official at knifepoint. I wonder why until I see Katniss holding Prim, covered in a thick layer of dust, tight in her arms, almost weeping. They were waiting for Prim. They did it for Katniss. They care _that_ much about Katniss. I smile at the realization, glad that being the Mockingjay has brought something good into her life.

The door finally closes and Johanna releases her hostage. She saunters over to us. "What happened to you?"

"We got stuck on the first level," Gale deadpans.

Finnick whistles, "Why would you be there?"

Gale stares pointedly at Prim. Katniss sees this and makes the connection instantly, especially when Buttercup yowls angrily at her for squishing him in her hug.

"You went back for the stupid cat?"

"I had to!"

Gale shifts suddenly, "You okay to walk, or do you need me to carry you?"

A furious blush overtakes my skin, and I am glad that I am caked head to toe in brown grime and no one can see it, suddenly realizing that I am still perched on his back.

"Oh, yes! I mean, I can walk. You can put me down." He gently kneels down, making sure that I don't put too much weight on my re-injured ankle too soon, but I still stumble once I am standing on my own two feet.

He rolls his eyes, "Come on, Princess, you can lean on me."

We slowly make our way to the check-in station and then he helps me to the section assigned to my family, Rory and Posy following like lost chicks. Nobody is there when I reach the simple beds.

I swallow my panic, "My parents should be here already."

We were _literally_ the last to arrive! They should be here waiting for me, embracing me the way Katniss embraced her sister.

"They probably keep the sick somewhere else so they can be comfortable," Gale offers and it warms my heart, because he has never been known for sugar-coating dire situations. "And your dad had been brought into HQ a few days ago, he must have been there when the attack started. I'm sure they have a private bunker somewhere."

"They must," I agree, more out desperation than any real belief that 13 has a VIP treatment.

I move towards the beds, but Gale pulls me back to his side. "We can't just leave you here alone surrounded by strangers. Come stay with us."

I am speechless at his behavior, but do my best to nod.

* * *

We draw stares as we walk, dirty and limping.

Hazelle takes her two younger children into a hug, not caring one bit that they are covered in dust and debris. She holds them for a whole minute, tears streaming down her cheeks, before she turns to hug Gale. Vick makes a joke about how we look like mole people, but his voice is hiccupping and I can tell he's been crying.

I am surprised when Hazelle hugs me next, "You keep saving my kids. Thank you."

Her voice is wrecked, and I feel a knot form in my throat. I cough to dislodge the sensation when she steps back. "I didn't do much."

Both Gale and his mother give me a pointed cough, reminding me of what they've both tried to teach me. Humility suits no one, and I don't have to be so _good._

"I mean, how can I not try to save them?" The Hawthornes had visited me in the hospital when the Everdeens and my own parents couldn't be there. They were the only thing keeping me from going insane at certain points. But I feel like it would be weird if I told them how much they've come to mean to me so quickly, "And Gale saved me too."

"You wouldn't have been running if you weren't chasing after Rory," Gale comments easily. "Just take my ma's praise, she doesn't give it out easily."

Hazelle picks up Posy and sits her on the top bunk. She quickly hands out two towels to Vick and Gale, and begins scrubbing a third on her daughter's skin. Without so much as a backwards glance, she orders, "Vick, help Rory. Gale, help Madge."

"Yes, ma'," they both say with fond exasperation. It is clear that Hazelle Hawthorne's word is law.

Gale tugs me into the lowest bunk and sits next to me. I don't have time to think about _what_ exactly he's supposed to be helping me with when he licks a corner of the towel and presses it to my face.

I shriek and fumble back, "What are you doing?"

His brows furrow in confusion. "Cleaning you. You can't sleep in all this dirt."

I splutter in surprise, "W-with spit?"

He huffs, "We didn't all grow up with a marble bathtubs, Princess. We make do with what we've got."

"But _spit?_ "

I know I am living up to every single one of Gale's expectations of the spoiled, prissy mayor's daughter he's always thought I was. Surprisingly, he only smiles when he tugs me back and rubs my face with the towel again.

" _Whatever_ it takes."

Something about his tone makes it sound like a challenge. Before the Games, I never considered myself competitive. I had no drive, no reason to try. My future was chosen before I was even born. The mayor's firstborn would always grow to be the mayor. At this moment, however, his words spark something in me, and I reach for the other end of the towel, lick the corner and press it to his face.

"If you say so."

He only laughs, and the affection I can see in his eyes makes something warm and bubbling appear in my stomach.

"You're gonna groom me now, Undersee?"

"It's common courtesy to help the person that helps you."

I have a sudden moment of clarity, when I realize that my hand is on Gale Hawthorne's face, separated only by a thin, scratchy towel. I had never paid much attention to the twittering of schoolgirls back in 12. I wasn't blind, I knew he was handsome, but at the time I could only see the boy that stole my only friend. Then he was the mean, older kid that picked on me despite the fact that I bought his strawberries.

Now, he is Rory's brother, Hazelle's son, Katniss' best friend, and he is smiling at me like I am brilliant. That warm feeling spreads until my fingertips tingle.

A throat clears, bringing me back into the present, and I turn to see Katniss standing there. Gale pulls his hand back as if he's been burned, I am slower but twice as awkward.

Katniss avoids my eyes, "I wanted to thank you all for going back for Prim. I thought she'd be here and then they wouldn't let me back out. I thought -" she takes a deep breath. "I owe you a debt I can never repay."

"No thanks needed, Catnip," Gale answers. "Prim is family."

She smiles at him, something in her eyes lighting up like he's given her the moon. "Yeah, family." Then she shakes her head, and the smile drops back into her usual reserved look. "I'll let you get back to your. . . grooming."

I blush again, but Gale only tugs my face back to his direction. "You heard her, back to work."

* * *

The attack continues well into the night. Or, at least, what I think is night. There are three beds and six people, presenting the biggest problem to our arrangement. The 13 officials were obviously betting on Hazelle and Posy sharing one bed, Vick and Rory sharing another, and Gale - the largest of them - having a bed to himself. Which, to their credit, actually was the Hawthornes' go-to plan. Except, that left no bed for me.

Hazelle offers to share with me and pass Posy to Gale, even though she hasn't put her daughter down since "cleaning" her. She probably expects me to be uncomfortable with any of the boys, even the youngest, Vick.

"I can bunk with Rory," I offer instead. "We shared close quarters enough during the Games."

Rory readily agrees, and Hazelle is about to voice her consent when Vick jokes, "Why bunk with him, when you can bunk with me?" He even throws me a saucy wink.

I giggle, but Rory is obviously offended. He pushes at his brother, yelling at him to respect me, obviously concerned with my honor. I giggle even more at the idea of a thirteen year old boy acting like my older brother.

"Stop it, Runt," Gale yanks on Rory's collar. "If you two are actually going to be arguing about this, then Madge will bunk with me."

Everything is suddenly silent, and I don't think I'm imagining the tension. I look to Hazelle, who is looking intently at her son. Eventually she nods.

"Yes, that's decided. Vick and Rory will take the top bunk, I'll take the middle with Posy, and Gale and Madge will share the bottom."

I try my best to not be scandalized, but it's difficult. My parents would never approve of me sharing a bunk with an older boy. Especially not one that I had declared my undying love for on national television. Maybe it's a Seam thing. There's no room for embarrassment when there's not enough space.

I scoot into the bottom bunk, finding myself squeezed between the wall and Gale. I do my best not to breathe.

"If you're uncomfortable, you can just say so," Gale whispers, staring at the bunk above us.

All the oxygen escapes me at once. "I was just trying to be unobtrusive."

"Just try to sleep, as long as you don't kick me, you won't be a bother." His words are punctuated by three consecutive blasts.

"I doubt I'll be sleeping much tonight."

He hums noncommittally and I turn my head to see his profile. There is still a sheen of dirt on his face and clinging to his hair, but he seems unaccountably handsome. I want to say something complimentary, then wonder if that would be weird given everything that's happened between us and how close we are right now.

In the end, what comes out is, "Tell me something nice."

His brows furrow in thought, and I am surprised he's actually giving my request actual thought.

"Posy was the first one to call you Princess," he finally says.

"Really?"

He nods seriously, "It was during your interview. You were wearing that golden dress and your hair was glowing. When you walked across the stage, it looked like you were floating. Posy said you looked just like a princess, and I guess that just stuck in my mind."

My heart skips a beat as I take in his words. There is something pleasing about his remembering so much details from my interview, when I had all but blocked it from my mind. That he cared enough to remember, and he apparently agreed with his sister's opinion. Princesses were supposed to be pretty, right?

"You should be proud. The prettiest girl in the world thinks you're pretty," he turns to face me as if reading my mind.

I see fire in his eyes. I've always seen a fire in Gale, but usually it is a violent, terrible fire. He wears all his hurt and resentment for all the world to see in his eyes and his sneer. This is a different sort of fire, though. It is warm and inviting. It's friendly and open and honest. I've never seen that look in his eyes, not even when he's looking at Katniss.

For the first time, I allow myself to think of my feelings for Gale. I think of the friendship we forged during the 74th Hunger Games, of how much it hurt for it to end, to be ignored as if it had never happened. I think of crying when he was whipped, of running through a snowstorm to take him morphling. I think of using his name for my own purposes, of telling the world I loved him so I could go down in memory as someone that sacrificed everything for love, instead of being just another murderer.

I think of Rory telling me on the beach how I would have been a great sister. I think of the world I briefly imagined, a world where Gale could fall in love with me, and me with him. Where I could call Hazelle mother, and Rory, Vick, and Posy siblings. Where my parents would have friends, and the Seam wouldn't hate them so much because they would see that we weren't all that different. I remember how much it hurt to think of such a world.

This time, my heart doesn't hurt at all. Instead, it almost feels like my heart is flying.

* * *

 **A/N:** That feel when your entire family is trying to hook you up with the nice girl that saved your brother.

 **I actually had to cut this in half** because it was reaching 8k words and it still wasn't done, and I've always preferred shorter chapters because I have ADD and long chapters turn me away.

 **Gale probably seems like he's done a 180** in his attitude towards Madge. . . because he _has._ The reason why will be revealed soon, but for now, please excuse the OOC behavior.

And **Madge almost FINALLY admitted she's in love** , at least to herself. So proud of you, baby girl!

 **No Peeta being tortured in the Capitol, means no warning of the bombing** in retaliation for Katniss "embarrassing" Snow. Which means, there's going to be at least a few deaths.

As always, tell me what you liked, didn't like, and what could use improvement!

~ Destiny's Sweet Melody


	14. Cracked Porcelain

**A/N:** You know how I saying the war would be different, but so far it's been pretty much the same but with different characters? Well, this is where things take a hard left.

 **To fangirl:** lol, sorry about making you associate spit with romance! Well, there might some sadness coming up. Things are going to get a bit more real.

 **To Geckos:** I'm glad you like the story, and Calisto! :)

 **Warning:** character deaths.

* * *

 **Unforgettable**

 **Chapter Fourteen: Cracked Porcelain**

The attack continues for three days, or what I assume is three days. It's hard to tell when the lighting stays dim all the time and people sleep whenever they want. The meals are still carefully doled out, but since you receive a pack every five hours, it is easy to lose track of whether the mush you're eating is meant to be lunch or dinner.

The attack seems to have no pattern and no actual target. The longest time without was six hours, and even the officials guarding the doors had begun to relax a bit when another bomb hit almost on top of us. That was the worst; the thought they may know exactly where we are and were concentrating all their firepower in the area to bury us all alive. I think of Gale and Katniss and the fathers they had lost in just that manner and wonder if they feel that fear just a little sharper than the rest of us do.

Luckily, those attacks don't last very long, and for a moment we can all breathe a little deeper. I thought the District 13 populace would be more prepared for such an experience, but I can hear shrieks and whimpers punctuating each shake of the earth.

The Hawthornes are nice enough to distract me from the absence of my parents. Posy dances. Vick makes jokes and Rory's reactions to them are even more entertaining. Hazelle finger-combs my hairs and ties it into a bun at the nape of my neck; there are toilets but no showers, so there is very little she can do to tame my curls. I thank her profusely anyways despite the fact there are no mirrors either and I can't be sure if it's actually flattering. It's the thought, the care they are showing unprompted, that matters.

But it's still not enough.

 _My parents might be dead,_ I think, heart tightening. They might be crushed beneath rubble, or suffocating in some enclosed space, or burning. _I might be an orphan._

We all might be next.

"My father used to call me Pearl," I tell Gale quietly. That's what Gale offers, surprisingly enough: conversation. He tells me anecdotal stories about life in the Seam and I respond with personal stories, though I know only the basics of life in town. I rarely left my home except for school or Capitol-mandated events. "My name is supposedly derived from an old word that means pearl, and when he was being extra affectionate he would call me Pearl."

I think back to all the years that had passed before he called me Pearl after the Quell. I wonder what had changed him, what he had seen or heard or done that made him stop calling me by my affectionate nickname. That he refused to call me by it again until I was miraculously delivered back to him from certain death.

My father isn't a bad man. Complicit, perhaps, in the crimes of the Capitol by accepting a position of power, but I think the person that would rather die than obey is rare. Don't all tributes kill because they're commanded to? Don't all citizens watch the televised butchery once a year because it's the law? Didn't Gale, the most anti-Capitol person I know, accept his lot as a miner because that was just the way things were done in 12? Didn't 13 make a deal directly with the Capitol to save themselves at the cost of twelve other districts?

I don't think any of us are terrible for doing what is necessary to survive, but we could all be called complicit because we stood by and watched as the Capitol did what it wanted. Because it took seventy-five years before we found the courage to stand together and declare that we'd had enough. Because Rue had to die, Katniss and Peeta had to threaten suicide, and 12 had to burn to the ground before a nationwide rebellion could so much as take shape.

"Well, then, I'm sure when you see him again you're going to be tired of the nickname by the time he's done," Gale offers me a half-smile.

That's another thing he offers; hope. It's even stranger than the conversation. I know it's not easy for him, that he's not used to giving empty words of comfort. He's the second-most pessimistic person I know. The first being none other than myself.

Hope is a dangerous thing. Offering it is even worse, because what if you're wrong? What if he's filling my head with all these beautiful dreams of being back with my parents and at the end I find out that they're both gone forever? I wouldn't hate him, of course, but I'd be angry for a while. I might complain that he shouldn't have filled me with hope when he knew better than anyone that life rarely worked out how you wanted it to. I might destroy what little friendship we've managed to scrape together between battles and training.

But even knowing all that, I can't help but want to believe in his words.

"I don't think I will. I kind of miss it, actually."

* * *

At some point in the endless hours, Annie Cresta starts screaming. Finnick Odair does his best to calm her down, but in the end it is Katniss singing a lullaby that eases her enough to send her to sleep. Somehow, the lullaby turns to traditional folk music from 12 and somebody - Greasy Sae, I think - pulls assorted Seam folk together and has them make a band with instruments made of bed pans and eating utensils and other knick-knacks. It works somehow, and for a moment it doesn't feel like we are under attack. It doesn't feel like we are in District 13.

It almost feels like home. Even though it's been a long time since I've seen people this happy. Hazelle dances a ditty with each of her children. Gale spins Posy and tosses her in the air, her happy shrieks in time with the music. Bristel and his wife fluctuate between dancing slow in a tight embrace and hopping around in a way that makes me worry for her very pregnant belly. Katniss actually smiles as she sings, each tune more upbeat than the last, and Peeta gazes adoringly at her while he dances with Prim. When the noise wakes Annie up, she claps like a child and picks up the dance moves easily. Her lover, suave as he is, constantly trips over his own feet, but it makes her laugh wildly and he doesn't seem the least bit embarrassed by it.

We are reminded of reality, of course, about an hour into the impromptu party.

The sound of distant blasts interrupt the music, but it is almost a denouement. The explosions last about twenty minutes, and fade with each attack. The music was cathartic, I don't feel as afraid anymore, and the air in the bomb shelter is a little easier to breathe.

When the all clear finally comes, it almost doesn't feel real. It feels like I have spent an age in this room and that nothing good can come from leaving. I am about to find out if hope is worth it.

Halfway up to the living quarters, we discover that there _is_ a VIP shelter of a sort. Hidden in a wall that now stands open wide, is small room filled with monitors and paper maps pinned to the bleak, tan walls. Haymitch is there, scowling angrily at everything that moves with the exception of Effie who is complaining about "terrible planning" and lack of amenities. It's strange, but the way he's positioned almost makes it seem like he's protecting her from the not so friendly stares of the others in the room.

There is a bald woman that Gale recognizes as Cressida in passing, but I'm the one that recognizes the magenta-haired young woman weeping hysterically in her arms.

When Juno sees me she speeds out of the room and grabs onto my arms. The flow of tired and weary people easily moves around us, not even sparing a glance for her hiccupping sobs. "Cassius and Justus, Cassius and Justus."

She can't do much other than say their names over and over, but I understand what has happened just the same. I can't call them friends, not even in the way my allies in the arena were, but I still freeze, something cold appearing in my heart.

"I, I'm sorry," I place my hand on her arm. I can't call Juno my friend either, but I'm not heartless! How can I see her sobbing so openly and not try to offer her comfort? I didn't know she was so attached to her camera crew, hadn't bothered to learn anything about them other than they were all ex-Capitol, and had been assigned to watch me and the F-squad fight and probably die.

I gently lead her back into the room and let my eyes wander over the unfamiliar faces. My ankle is still killing me and I'm afraid if I don't get it treated soon it might stay swollen and useless forever, but I don't try to sit down.

"Your dad's not here," Haymitch appears beside me, sensing my thoughts. He leans in and whispers, "He was most likely in the main HQ when the attack started, but these people are smart, they wouldn't leave their most important spot open to attack. Try not to worry too much, okay, sweetheart?"

I swallow past the lump in my throat and nod, "My mother?"

"They have a separate bomb shelter for the sick and injured," he confirms Gale's theory. "If we made it through, they should be fine as well."

 _Could it really be that easy?_ Could something really have gone so well in my life for once?

"Thank you, Haymitch," I look into his stormy gray eyes. They're clearer than I can remember them ever being, and there is something soft and sharp all at once in them. I wonder if sometimes he looks at me and doesn't see me. If he's like my mother, and can only see the young girl they lost. Or if he sees a second chance to protect the stubborn merchant girl that refused to just die as the Capitol commanded.

He shrugs uncaringly, "Go take a shower, you look like hell."

I snort but take the opportunity to leave the heavy conversation. I'm not the best with emotions either.

* * *

"You sure you don't want to stay with us until everything is sorted?" Gale offers as he slips his arm from around me. He has been letting me use him as a crutch since I refuse to let him carry me again.

I don't really want to go wait alone in my family's quiet compartment, but I'm not sure if I can still be welcomed by the Hawthornes. If they honestly haven't gotten tired of my presence, or if decorum insists they must pretend they haven't. I've never spent three days straight with anybody other than my parents.

Still, I find myself lingering, "Well, as long as you don't mind."

"Nonsense," Hazelle declares. "You can stay with us as long as you like, honey."

Her smile seems genuine, and I can't help but feel warmed by their welcome. I understand why Katniss learned to love them so quickly, when she'd had so much trouble to call me her friend despite spending time together almost since we started school. The Hawthornes are easy to love.

"Then, um, sure! I'd like to stay."

I wonder if using their shower would be too much to ask for. No amount of spit or scrubbing could get through the thick layer of grime our journey to the first level left us with and at this point it's starting to itch. I envy Rory when he makes straight for the shower. Hazelle follows his lead and carries Posy to the sink.

"You can have the shower next," Gale says suddenly, causing me to jump.

"That's -" crossing a line. At least it is for me. In town, friends, even close friends, don't use each other's showers. No matter the circumstances. _But,_ I remind myself, _they're not from town._ They're from the Seam, and the lines of propriety must be different there, where people were lucky if they had running water every day. "Thanks."

There's not much to do but wait. Hazelle offers small talk as she goes about her chores, but I don't prove to be a good conversationalist. She seems to understand that I'm worried about my parents and doesn't push too hard to get me out of my comfort zone. I know that even on a good day, I wouldn't have much to add but I think she wouldn't judge me for that either.

I feel a bit like a doll my father had gifted me with when I was little more than seven years old. It was a pricey doll, made of porcelain with real human hair and a velvet dress and shoes. I didn't know at the time that I wasn't supposed to play with it, the concept of decorative dolls not one that I was familiar with yet. To my credit, the doll lasted in my care three weeks before I inevitably dropped it.

Cracks appeared criss-crossing her delicate skin, but she didn't completely fall apart. My father had been disappointed, but his only punishment was not buying me a replacement. She stood in my room until before the Quell, her body barely holding itself together despite looking like a strong wind could shatter her to pieces.

That's how I feel, like cracked porcelain. Like the smallest wind, a small phrase, could shatter me and nothing could help me stay together. Not even my own will.

A quick series of sharp knocks interrupts our quiet get together and Gale rises to let Katniss in. She doesn't seem very surprised to see me there. Of course, her words reveal that she was looking for me, that she must have gone to my assigned compartment and upon seeing no one there figured where the only place I could be.

"Mom and Prim are helping the medical corps. They've confirmed your mother is fine, if still catatonic."

I breathe a sigh of relief at her words. My skin doesn't feel completely healed, there is still a sharp, constant sting across my flesh, but it's a start.

But Katniss isn't done, "Your father has been confirmed to have been in HQ when the attack started, but. . ." she bites her lip, looking me over as if I am prey and she is trying to figure from which angle to strike. It reminds me a bit of how she told me about District 12 burning to the ground because of my actions. "One of the attacks seems to have hit the HQ directly."

I am grateful that I am already sitting, it feels like I black out for a moment.

"There hasn't been any contact, and it seems like there was a collapse, but they're confident there should be some survivors."

 _Some_ , not all. Meaning I have to hope he is lucky enough to be in the ranks of survivors. As if anybody in my family has ever had any real luck at all.

"I'm heading up to help dig through the rubble, I wanted to know if you wanted to come along."

"Katniss," Gale interrupts softly. "Her ankle's busted real bad. She's not going to be any help digging through rubble. I'll -"

"Take me," I insist quietly. I have to force the words out of my mouth. It almost takes more effort than learning to use the saber, "I want to go. I need to."

Gale looks uncertain but Katniss nods.

The outside world is a disaster zone. The forest that surrounded the underground district little more than ash and smoke, the charred corpses of trees a haunting reminder of what the Capitol can do. There are teams of people digging through the collapsed ground. Some of them hold gurneys with injured, others are watching over bloodied, human-shaped bundles. I wonder if my father is already among them, but I force myself to follow after Katniss as best I can when I'm forced to go at the pace Gale has set, his arm my temporary crutch again.

"Everdeen," Boggs calls out and Katniss breaks out of the predetermined path only she can recognize.

At the same time I hear a shout go out, "A survivor! Male! Mid-forties to fifties! Bring a gurney!"

My heart speeds up. That could be my father. It sounds like it could be him, at least. I need to get closer to see, see if he's alive and what sort of condition he's in but Gale hesitates. He's obviously torn. He wants to help me but his instinct is to follow Katniss, it always has been.

I make the decision for him. Putting more weight than could be recommended on my injured ankle, I pull away from him and hop a few steps towards the rescue workers. Distantly, I hear Boggs speaking to Katniss, "President Coin was killed in the collapse."

I know that means the rebellion has just been beyond crippled, that it might have ended right this moment, but I don't care. I hobble towards the body that has just been pulled out and placed on the yellow plastic pallet.

"Madge!" Gale calls out from behind me but I ignore him. Nothing much matters except seeing for my own eyes that my father is okay. That, maybe this one time, we have defied the odds and I will not have to mourn anyone.

"Daddy!" I push my way past the workers and lock eyes with the unconscious body.

My heart stalls for a small eternity. For a moment, my mind can't make sense of what it is I'm seeing. _Hope is a terrible thing._ The survivor isn't my father. It's Plutarch Heavensbee.

* * *

 **A/N:** I've been struggling recently; partly because of my work situation, partly because of my home life, and partly because of who I am as a person. I had a bit of trouble writing this chapter, but you guys have been so nice and thoughtful with your reviews I felt I needed to post this on time. Your responses are one of the few things I have to look forward to each week.

Anyway, **the first big death** is President Alma Coin! If you think this solves the problem of corruption within the rebellion, you would be wrong. I didn't do it to solve problems, but to create new ones.

As always, let me know what you liked, didn't like, and what could use improvement!

~Destiny's Sweet Melody!


	15. Splinters

**A/N:** This bit is a little more political than the rest, but since in this universe Madge was being groomed to be mayor after her dad, I'm sure she'd be a little more aware than the others.

I have no excuse as to why this is a day late, except that I'm an Actual Human Trash Fire and my wonky work schedule doesn't help. I'm half-asleep as I type this.

 **To fangirl:** Hopefully, you enjoy this next twist too. And Coin's absence is certainly going to make things a little shaky!

* * *

 **Unforgettable**

 **Chapter Fifteen: Splinters**

It's not until an arm wraps around my waist that I realize I have lunged at Plutarch's unconscious body. There is a part of my brain that already knows my father is dead. Even if the search and rescue is not done yet, I have already accepted that he is most likely already out of the collapse, amongst the bloodied bundles off to the side. Another part of my brain has decided that it is Plutarch's fault. My father is dead because he is alive, and it makes me furious.

"Madge, calm down," Gale shouts in my ear. "You're going to break your ankle!"

"I don't care!" I reply in a snarl, and kick out my leg as if to prove it.

I am nowhere near close enough to do any serious damage to the Capitol man - the highest ranking member of the rebellion left, I realize - but the effect is instantaneous. Soldiers and medics descend on me. I hear Gale shouting at them to back off, but I'm ripped from his arms regardless.

That only makes me angrier, and I thrash around, screaming in a wordless rage. Multiple voices are shouting at me to calm down, but I don't listen to them. Can't even recognize them. I feel a sharp pinch in my arm and then I'm quickly swallowed up by darkness.

When I wake up, I'm back in the infirmary, its familiar pristine walls mocking me. The world is not changed, everything keeps going on as it always has. Nobody cares that my father is dead. The world will not stop just because my heart has been shattered.

My right ankle is in the blue cast again, my arms tied to the bed by tan leather straps. Someone has bathed me while I slept and my jumpsuit has been replaced by a green paper dress. My hair is still tied back, but I'm sure it's not in the same bun Hazelle had made for me. It feels like a violation, almost, to wake up and find yourself in a new world, your very being changed against your will.

"Madge?" A quiet voice calls from the door.

I look and see it is Prim. She is squeaky clean in a new jumpsuit as well, her blonde hair pulled back in her usual twin braids. Her blue eyes are wide and filled with pity.

"My father?"

Her eyes flick downward, a sorrowful frown appears on her delicate face. I know then that I was right all along.

"Is everybody else okay?"

Prim startles, surprised at my question. She shrugs, "Well, you saw most everyone in the shelter. Your friend Anemone was with the other sick and injured, and Calisto was in another bunker but is also okay. Is there anybody else you want me to ask about?"

I think of the medic that had smiled to see Prim after he removed my cast. I wonder about Whitaker and the only soldier that made it back home from my first official mission. I think of the nice lady that always smiles when she serves us food and the young couple that lives in the compartment next to mine. But I don't know most of their names, so I shake my head, "No, thank you."

"If you're feeling well, I'd like to tell the others," she continues quietly.

Am I feeling well? Absolutely not. My skin still feels raw and jagged, all sharp edges and painful pulling. My bones feel heavy and it's almost like my soul itself is protesting the continued flow of time. But I know that none of that is going to get these straps off my arms.

I smile shakily, "I'm okay."

I can tell she doesn't quite believe me - who would? - but she nods slowly. "I'll tell the doctor you've calmed down, and when my shift's done, I'll tell Katniss and everyone."

I nod, do my best to seem excited by the prospect of having contact with my friends, but can't muster much energy. Prim must want me to get out as much as I do, because she ignores the apathy that must be clear on my face and turns to leave through the door.

Then, at the last moment, she turns back to me, "There's one more thing you should know. You can see your mother, if you want to, once you're cleared for release."

* * *

My mother. It has always been easy to forget my mother. She is usually so unobtrusive, sequestered in a bed, only making a fuss when she wants more morphling. Even when she slipped into one of her violent states, it was easy enough to pretend she didn't exist. We had gotten good at trapping her in her own room, making sure there was nothing for her to hurt herself with, and letting her tire herself out screaming and throwing her body around.

I don't know if I'm a terrible child. I have always tried to be dutiful and devoted to my parents. To my father, by being obedient and presenting myself as the Capitol expected the mayor's daughter to do. And to my mother, by being her personal attendant, taking care of her when my father could not abide outside help. But I don't know if I've been _good_ to them.

It took seventeen years for me to find out that my mother's twin died in the Quarter Quell. It took seventeen years for me to find out that the reason she hated her mockingjay pin was because, in her mind, it represented everything the Capitol could do. The rebels see the bird as a symbol of defiance - a creature born from the Capitol's monstrosities that survived despite their best efforts - but all my mother could see was the token her beloved sister had taken to her doom. To Maylene Donner, the mockingjay was irrefutable proof that no matter how hard you tried to stay alive, eventually, the Capitol would catch you and kill you. It must have been a heavy burden, one she felt compelled to carry in honor of her family and out of love, but heavy nonetheless.

It took me seventeen years to realize I didn't have to wait for my parents to initiate acts of affection. I could have spoken to my mother about her past, I have always known it couldn't have been pleasant. No one's life was, outside of the Capitol. I could have hugged my father goodbye every morning and insisted on a kiss on the cheek instead of just accepting that I was 'too grown up' for such things. I could have taken the initiative to be the family I had always dreamed of.

It took being chosen as a tribute - one that would almost certainly die because of her close ties to the rebellion's figurehead - to realize that family _was_ what I had always wanted. And now, that I had purpose and the courage to reach out for my goal, it was taken from me.

My father is dead and my mother may as well be. She is still unresponsive when I'm finally allowed into the room she has been kept in all this time.

Her pale yellow curls, as wild as my own, are let loose for the first time in recent memory. Daddy was always careful to make sure she was presentable should anyone come visit the Undersee household, so her hair was always tied back. She was in the same drab paper gown I was wearing, and she was sitting up straight by her own power. That didn't mean she was conscious though.

Her eyes are wide open, but unseeing. When the metal door opened with a soft hiss, she didn't so much as blink.

"Mom?" I call quietly, afraid to pierce the quiet of the room. There is a slight humming sound from the lights and air vents overhead, but nothing else. She isn't even hooked up to any of the myriad wires I had woken up to, just a single line measuring her heartbeat to make sure she was still alive. The screen behind is the only thing convincing me I'm not looking at a corpse.

She is so silent, so still, that she seems to be a statue. It shames me to admit it, but I find it creepy. I _must_ be a terrible daughter, because all I want is to run.

"Mom? It's me, Madge," I try again. She doesn't react at all. Her chest barely moves as she breathes. I look again at the screen assuring me she is alive, and take a few careful steps towards her bed. I stop at her bedside, and try to not let despair drown me when she continues looking at the wall directly in front of her. My hand twitches to reach towards her, but I don't. She is allegedly cleansed of all the morphling in her system, but I still remember how she can get if startled out of one of her dazed states.

The burn scar on the back of my thigh pulses at the memory.

"The doctors tell me you can come home now," I keep my voice gentle and don't let my bitterness show.

Home? What home? The little compartment they assigned us that we have neither the means nor the freedom to decorate as we wish? The burned remains of District 12, where the mayoral mansion was turned to cinder, a bomb clearly aimed at the home of the man who had dared let the Mockingjay grow to all she was? Or to the fantasy of a new district that Katniss had spoken to me of?

What home can I provide for my mother now that there is just the two of us? I don't carry the respect or political clout necessary to make sure we don't get shunted off and forgotten like my father did. I'm not important enough to be protected by the rebellion, even though I'm sure Katniss, Peeta, Haymitch, and even Gale wouldn't just willingly cast me aside. But they're not leaders, and there's only so much they can ask for. I'm sure I'm still part of the F Squad, if there's still a rebellion to speak of left, which means I'm still slated for death. I'm still a sacrificial lamb being readied for a very public, televised death.

It's quite possible my mother will be all alone by the time the rebellion's done, and who will take care of her then? Katniss and Gale already have their own families to take care of, Haymitch can barely care for himself, and I'm not close enough to Peeta to ask him. My mother, as she is now, needs more than just an occasional visit and gifts of enough food to not starve. She is a lifetime commitment, and no one but her daughter was obligated to take up that commitment.

 _Her useless daughter,_ I think bitterly.

"But you need to _tell_ them you want to go home, okay?"

In all honesty, I'm sure if she takes too long to respond to treatment they will ship her off to our compartment, catatonia or no. She will be a drain on resources before too long, and if there's an unforgivable crime in 13 it is being wasteful. But, for right now, the psychologists want to make sure she is of sound mind before they release her.

For that, she needs to actually react to the world around her.

"Tell them you want to go home," there is a hitch in my voice. When I hear it, my lower lip begins to tremble and I feel my eyes burn. I feel like a child again, being told that the little sibling I had been eagerly awaiting for wasn't ever going to arrive. That something had gone wrong and Mommy won't ever be able to have another baby. That I will be alone forever in an immeasurably large house.

"Please come home with me," I reach out for her hand, gripping the back of her limp hand. She still doesn't look at me. "I don't want to be alone."

There's a part of me that knows we're being watched through the opaque glass on the far wall, and in any other moment I would feel embarrassed by my tears. But this isn't the time for embarrassment. I'm not the mayor's stone-faced daughter, or the fearsome tribute that got a twelve.

For the first time in my life, I'm just a child. And I'm scared of being left alone.

 _I want my mother!_ I want the woman that pretended to be a ghost and chased me around the house because I didn't have any friends my own age. I want the woman that would call me sweetie and sing me lullabies. I want to feel cared for and loved and safe.

"Daddy's gone, mom," I admit, knowing that I may be doing more harm than good. I know how well Mrs. Everdeen reacted to the news her husband was dead. And even if my parents weren't the great love affair of their age, I know now that there was genuine love between them. "He's gone and it's just us now. I _need_ you, do you understand?"

She blinks and then. . . nothing.

All she does is continue staring at the wall.

I choke on my sobs. What will crying do other than bring me even more shame? The universe has never smiled kindly on my family - on me - and it won't start doing so now just because I'm sad. Despite knowing that, my sadness still brings me to my knees. The weight of it combined with the weariness in my bones forcing me to kneel beside the bed.

I place my forehead on the cool sheets, my hand still grips my mother's unresponsive one. "I don't want to be alone, Mommy. Please don't make me be alone!"

I don't know how long I stay kneeling like that, half-expecting the doctors to walk in and kick me out. If I can't help, then they don't need me there. Then, suddenly, I feel something on the back of my head.

My head twitches up, and I see my mother, looking at me, her other hand stroking my hair. Her eyes are still cloudy, but I feel as if she can see me.

In a quiet, halting voice, she says, "There, there, sweetie."

* * *

It takes three days for the news of Coin's death to become official. The list of officials that were killed by the lucky shot - it quickly became apparent that the Capitol had no real idea where they were and it was only their own defenses that gave away their position - was long and I did my best to not wince when they read out my father's name. There was enough pity in my friends' eyes without proving how affected I was by everything.

The word 'cover-up' flits through my mind as I note the deaths were only announced until after Plutarch was up and moving again. It's obvious that he is setting himself up as the new leader of the rebellion, the new President of 13. And, perhaps, eventually the President of a new Panem.

Was that his plan all along? Would Coin have suffered an unfortunate accident if the Capitol hadn't taken care of her for him? I don't have any proof to support my theories - it certainly seems like fortune was simply smiling upon the ex-Head Gamemaker - but I'm not shy about voicing them.

The Hawthornes make an effort to visit my mother and me in our lonely compartment every night, and Gale, at least, seems to agree with me. Hazelle seems to dislike the Capitol man on principle alone, but warns me to be careful who I tell my suspicions to.

She seems worried that dissent will be as quickly and violently punished here as it was under Thread and I startle when I realize I am acting like Gale! I choke on laughter but when Gale himself asks me what's wrong, I just say, "Nothing!"

I'm sure he won't like the comparison.

Nevertheless, when the time finally comes for a new council to convene to discuss the rebellion, a full week after the attack was ended, Gale takes me along with him. Pushing past any officials with a bullheaded confidence, and pulling me behind him whenever I falter.

Peeta, Katniss, Haymitch, and Effie sit as a unit at one end of the conference table. Peeta smiles gently at the sight of me, and nods in a friendly manner towards Gale. Katniss gestures for us to take a seat near her and I'm surprised at her confident manner. She seems like a leader, a _real_ leader, not just the mouthpiece or pretty face for the rebellion.

Finnick sits nearby, nearer to Katniss than his fellow Career, Enobaria. I wonder at the absence of Johanna Mason. I know she is safe, remember she had been in the same bunker that I had been, but she was apparently not welcomed in the new council. Maybe she was considered too uncontrollable. For all that Enobaria played the part of vicious monster, she seemed to have been tamed by the Capitol enough that she obeyed orders without question, even if she was ready to use her razor teeth on Snow himself.

On one side sit a few 13 officials, but Boggs is the only one I recognize. He sits stiff, and visibly discomfited for the first time ever. The way the seven assorted personnel sit makes it obvious who the centerpiece is, a man with graying hair and olive green eyes. There is a jagged scar running from his forehead, over his left eye, and down to his chin. The patch over his left breast proudly reads SOLOMON.

On the other end of the table sits Plutarch Heavensbee and the Capitol defectors. Once again I am startled by an absence. Where is Cinna? Did he survive the attack? I don't remember his name amongst those lost in the HQ collapse, and I'm sure that Katniss would be more distraught at his loss if he'd been unable to make it to a bunker, but I can't imagine why he wouldn't be invited. He was, after all, the one that gave the world the girl on fire, and he was the Capitol citizen the Mockingjay was closest to.

 _Oh_ , I realize in the tense silence that marks the beginning of the meeting. _They're factions._

That was _why_ Cinna wasn't invited, and why Johanna wasn't either. They aren't essential, but they would tip the scales in Katniss' favor, and that couldn't be allowed. As it stands, each side has seven players - Finnick would almost certainly choose Katniss over Heavensbee or this mysterious Solomon. The only real wild card is Enobaria, but I'm sure she could be swayed either way with the right incentive.

Heavensbee opens his mouth, but Solomon breaks the silence first, "Let's begin with the obvious. The rebellion needs a new leader. 13 needs a new president."

 _Humph, so he's one of those._

Power-hungry and unafraid to show it. Points for honesty, not so much for basic human decency. Coin had barely been cremated forty-eight hours before.

"Agreed," Heavensbee is still using his genial, Gamemaker voice. Ever the diplomat, trying to find allies where anybody could see he wouldn't be able to. "If the rebellion flounders any longer, it could break apart. As it is, the only thing that is keeping it together is that no one knows that Coin is dead. It could be the death blow -"

"Unless, we show that the rebellion is more than one person," Solomon interrupts. "Coin was important, she was not vital. She can be replaced just as she replaced the president before her. We should move to install an interim president immediately, a vote can take place after the war is ended."

"It should be somebody charismatic," Heavensbee is quick to point out. A quality that this Solomon, and everybody born in 13, seems to lack. "Somebody easily identifiable, and that the public can look to. Somebody that can be loved rather than feared, while still managing to do what needs to be done."

My throat tightens up as I realize no one on the Districts' side is saying anything. Haymitch seems like he wants to interrupt at certain moments, but he is easily ignored. Effie seems like she _wants_ to agree with Heavensbee and even Finnick seems at a loss on how to interrupt the dueling would-be presidents.

Desperation seizes me, "It should be Katniss!"

Everyone quiets at my shout. My face burns, but I continue, "Katniss _is_ beloved and easily identifiable. She's the Mockingjay! The Districts already believe she _is_ the leader of the rebellion. If you actually care about the rebellion surviving, then you'd give power to her until the war is ended."

Heavensbee gives me a saccharine smile, "That's nice, but Miss Everdeen isn't a politician."

"And she's a child," Solomon reminds us.

"She's a soldier," Gale snaps angrily. "And Madge is right. The Districts are fighting because the Mockingjay is. If she asked them to, they would march to their deaths for the future of Panem."

Katniss seems stricken by that bit of information, "Peeta's more charismatic than I am."

"Don't sell yourself short," Peeta smiles at her. "You have no idea what effect you have on people. They're right, you're the best choice."

"A Victor for the Capitol, a survivor for the rebels," Finnick says smoothly. "She's the perfect leader! We can use her image for every angle."

"It's decided then," Haymitch slaps the table gleefully.

"It most certainly is not," Solomon objects. "We have not voted on it."

"If there is a vote, I will vote for the Mockingjay," Enobaria shoots a steely stare at the soldier. I know then that she is aware what her purpose is today. The deciding vote, the only vote that actually matters. "No more old men that don't know what it means to suffer."

I never thought I might actually like Enobaria.

There is nothing else to be said. The motion passes and Katniss is sworn in as the interim president of 13 and de-facto leader of the rebellion to her obvious and great reluctance. I don't know how much power they will actually allow her, and already I can see the splinters in the council, widening slowly but surely as their displeasure makes itself known.

The rebellion might yet be destroyed by the greed of its conspirators.

"Way to go, Undersee," Gale whispers to me. "You just gave power to the one person in Panem that doesn't want it."

I smile, "Good."

* * *

 **A/N:** These last few chapters have been a bit on the short side, but we're moving into the final phase of the rebellion and the final arc of this fic.

 **This isn't going to end with Katniss as President of Panem,** don't worry. Madge is actually quite politically savvy, and she just wanted to nip Snow 2.0 in the bud. Not that this necessarily means the problem is solved, as she herself pointed out.

Yes, I know that canonically, **Heavensbee turned out to be a good guy, and didn't make a move to be president** , but he also made sure that he had a cushy position before and after the rebellion. So, this is just him making sure that he's going to keep a cushy job now that his ally was killed and he has no idea who her replacement would be/how to manipulate them. He's not a villain, but Madge is wary of him so that's why he seems so sketchy so far.

Hope you don't mind another OC, but **13 was just as corrupted as the Capitol** so I'm sure that there would have been people chomping at the bit to be president if they didn't have TWELVE other districts vote for Paylor.

 **Next chapter we get back into the war proper!**

As always, tell me what you liked, didn't like, and what could use improvement!

~ Destiny's Sweet Melody


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